Potter's Wheel
by JoMarchWrites
Summary: Wheels turn, they make other things and people move, they give support. In one eventful night, a turning cog (spun by a once-lost Godfather) changes everything, but will those changes be for the better, or should well-enough have been left alone? (Set post Book 7 minus the epilogue. Harmony!)
1. Potter's Wheel 1

_**My version of their lives after the war are vastly different from Madam Rowling's. Story begins not long after the fifth anniversary of the war. Hogwarts has been rebuilt And Re staffed, and many of the pieces have been picked up and put back together. All except one.**_

_**Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work.**_

It had been a long day, an even longer night. There weren't many dark wizards roaming around, but the few that were drove the aurors absolutely mad.

The one he'd been after, for weeks now, had left few clues and always seemed just out of reach.

Tonight, though, he'd caught him. After sending a few owls to ensure the cell at Azkaban was secluded and secure, he'd grabbed a drink at The Leaky Cauldron, stopped to pick up freshly cut lilies, then made his way home. He muttered a soft "alohomora" and stepped into the modestly lavish living room.

He kicked the door closed, then set the post and wrapped lilies on the coffee table. Weary, he turned his attention to the manic chirping coming from behind him.

"Hedwig," he chuckled. "Sorry." He flipped the latch up on the silver cage and reached in to scratch the snowy owl's head lovingly. "Go on," he whispered.

Hedwig gave him a lovingly annoyed nip and then flew out of her cage, making her way to the window that seemed to open all on its own.

He watched her fly, disappearing into the night sky, and he sighed with a smile.

"You're home," a soft voice hit his ears and he turned toward it with an even broader smile. His arms wrapped around her, her feet left the ground, and their lips met as he swung her round and moaned against their kiss.

"I've missed you," she muttered as her head rested against his. "I sent you two owls and even tried to..."

"Mione," he sighed, his bespectacled eyes closing, "I was...I captured… and it was rather difficult for me to..."

"I know, Harry," she told him, both her hands coming to his face. "That's why I needed to talk to you. To be there. See if...if you needed me."

"I always need you," he retuned, planting another kiss on her forehead. "I brought you..."

"Lilies," she finished with a grin. She nodded at the mantle, where the flowers were now settled in a crystal vase. She winked at him, her wandless and wordless magic having stunned him. She gave him a soft kiss again, and then peered over his shoulder toward the portrait of his parents hanging on the far wall of the living room. She smiled as she caught sight of Lily and James Potter wrapped in a heated kiss.

"We're like them, you know," he whispered, well aware of what she was seeing. "And we always will be."

She turned her attention back to him, blinking sweetly, and kissed him again. "Always," she whispered, her nose rubbing against hers just a bit.

When he sighed and closed his heavy eyes, though, she knew the subject she'd been avoiding had to be broached.

"How...how was he?" she asked quietly. "Were the rest of them angry with you?"

"With me?" He pulled away from her, and he walked toward the cherry wood cabinet across the room, holding onto her hand as long as possible before he was too far out of reach. "No. Not me. Him? Bloody furious at him." He gave a small scoff as he poured a glowing green liquid from a crystal bottle into a short, pewter glass. "First time I'd ever seen Arthur Weasley agree with a Malfoy."

"You don't mean..." she stopped, unable to finish the thought, let alone speak it aloud.

He nodded, then brought the potion to his lips and downed it with one hard swallow. "Sentencing vote was unanimous. Draco sat right beside Arthur, their hands went up...as if they'd rehearsed it...same speed and same firmness." He turned, licking his lips and letting the burn of the drink settle into his throat. "He's heading to Azkaban. Tonight."

Hermione ran to him and grabbed his face, her large, innocent eyes boring into his. "Don't you dare think it, Harry!" She was yelling in a whisper, willing him to listen to her. "None of this was your fault. Ron...handled things...badly."

"We all did," he gruffed, pulling her soft hands from his stubble-coated cheeks. " 'Mione," he said, shaking his head, "That night...everything changed. I realized..."

"We both did..."

"That I could stand to lose more than just my life, I had lost so much already, but you...you were the one thing...when I said I had something to fight for..."

"I know..."

"I meant you!" he yelled, his voice cracking with upset and anger. "I didn't care about Ginny or Ron's feelings, I didn't care how hurt they'd be! Damn it, when I got back to that hall, in the rubble and the remains, the only thing I wanted was..."

"I kissed you back, didn't I?" she finally said loud enough to stop his rambling. "Harry, you weren't acting alone, I wanted you, too. Everything I thought I was feeling for Ron...I realized after the smoke cleared...I had been feeling it all so much more for you." She moved to him. She took his hands, and she gave him her best know-it-all smirk. "I never imagined the famous Harry Potter would want to be with a frizzy-haired bookworm like me, so I convinced myself to settle for his trusty sidekick."

He laughed. "Trusty my arse," he chortled, his arms winding around her waist. He planted a kiss on the end of her nose. "Ginny forgave us straight away, she knew all along...well, she was all part of Dumbledore's plan, anyway. But Ron...I never thought..."

"Ron," she interrupted, "Showed us his true colors before it was too late, is all. And he was brought to justice, by the greatest auror since Mad-Eye Moody." She kissed him gently. "I suppose...they want you to escort him to Azkaban?"

Harry shook his head. "On the contrary, my love," he kissed her lips. "They forbid me to leave the house. Don't want any of his cohorts coming after me. I'm to stay right here, with you, all night." He sighed."They also don't want me hearing anything he says before they close the cell on him."

She looked at him blankly, then smiled. "You didn't."

"I didn't," he told her earnestly. "George did." He winked at her. "Gave his little brother a sad and bitter hug goodbye and dropped a Blabberbug in his pocket." He pulled a small, round, marble out of his pocket. "We'll hear it all."

Hermione picked the bauble up with two fingers and held it up to the light. The small speaker inside began to glow and vibrate, and she knew the bewitched beetle was beginning its sneaky job of eavesdropping on the owner of the striped jumper pocket in which it was nestled. "This," she said, "is not going to be easy."

Harry sighed in agreement and kissed her once more before leading her back to the sofa. He watched as she placed the marble on the table and tapped it with her wand, which she'd just pulled from her sleeve. The volume began to crescendo and the couple cuddled as the details of their best friend's betrayal filtered through the air.

_**There is much more to this tale. Reviews are appreciated. Thank you for reading.**_

**_Peace and Love_**

**_Jo_**


	2. Potter's Wheel 2

_**Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work.**_

"Professor," a small, yet panicked voice called. "Is it true? They've caught the man who tried to kill..."

"Yes," Hermione sighed, holding up a hand. "Please, don't finish that sentence, Malfoy." She opened her eyes and blinked at the Slytherin girl, who looked more and more like her Uncle Draco every day. "Maleficent, it's true, he's in Azkaban. Now, I know your uncle was worried so thank you for..."

"Grandmother was scared for him, too, Professor," the small white-haired child blinked her deep green eyes at Hermione. "I was, too. For what it's worth, we're all glad Harry's safe now."

Hermione smiled as she nodded at the girl, then patted her gently on the shoulder and sent her on her way. She tilted her head, recalling a time when the Malfoys counted down the minutes until something awful happened to Harry Potter. She snapped out of her reminiscing and looked down the hall, catching Draco Malfoy's eye. She sent up a small wave toward the Potions master, then headed back into her classroom. She exhaled heavily as she sat behind her large oak desk. It was cluttered, she knew, littered with books and bits of parchment, spilled ink, broken and tattered quills, and aging photographs in shiny frames.

She caught sight of one, the three youths with arms linked, their eyes sparking with childhood innocence and curiosity. Three heads poking out of one window on the old Hogwarts express, and as she stared at the laughing, happy faces and waving arms, she realized that, even then, Harry looked at her with more love in his eyes than anyone ever had. She chuckled to herself as she raised the frame, the fingertips of her right hand stroking across the moving images. "How little you knew then," she mumbled to the clueless children.

"How little we know now," a voice from the doorway called.

She dropped the photograph back down to its place in the corner of her desk, and she nodded agreeably as she started in on attempting to organize the chaos before her. "True," she offered, whipping out her wand and muttering an incantation. Every piece of rubbish and useless object swirled up into the air and flew in perfect V-formation toward the bin in the back of the room. "How are you, Draco?" she asked, finally facing the slick drawl of Professor Malfoy.

He shrugged, his angular shoulders almost meeting his rather pointed ears. "Not every day you have to be a part of something so..." he trailed off, unsure of how to best explain."Is Harry..."

"All right?" Hermione scoffed. "He'll never admit to anything to the contrary." She flicked her wand again, this time commanding all of the scattered books to right themselves and march single-file toward the bookcases and alphabetize themselves. "I'm in no mood to talk about it. There've been a lot of tears and a lot of yelling and I'm done now, so, onward and upward as they say." She smoothed out her mauve-colored dress and cleared her throat again. "Was there something you needed, or..."

"A favor, actually." Draco moved toward her, spinning around the same silver frame she'd been conversing with. He waved a hand and the image changed to Harry and Hermione, in dress robes, beside a grinning Draco, their glasses raised in celebration as confetti and stars fell around them. "Forget."

Hermione laughed bitterly. "How can I?" she asked rhetorically. "Mal..." she raised an eyebrow, remembering where they were. "Professor," she corrected, "Did you ever, for a single moment, believe that you and Harry would consider yourselves brothers when we grew up? After the hell you put us all through, how you almost killed..."

"No," he interrupted, unwilling to remember having almost lost his soul. "Not once."

Hermione nodded. "That's exactly it. I never imagined I'd be without either of them. Of course, then, I'd thought I'd have to settle for Ron whilst Harry ran off and did famous things, but I always knew I'd have them both. When that changes so suddenly...so violently...how do you just...forget?"

"Dumbledore made you forget a lot of things," Draco said with an air of guilt. "I could...if it would be easier..."

Hermione cut him off, shocked he would even offer such a thing. "Dumbledore manipulated all of us, once upon a time, and my life would have been greatly different if he hadn't. Now that I remember it all, I can't...I can't imagine forgetting any of it." She shook her head slowly. "Even if it hurts now, Draco, it's part of me and it's making me..."

"It was just a suggestion," Malfoy broke in, resting one comforting hand on her left shoulder. "I know I can't stand you looking so hurt, being so wounded, and I can only imagine what Harry must be dealing with on his own, as well as knowing what this is doing to you." He narrowed his eyes and the malice of the young bully she once knew surfaced. "Forgive me for wanting to make it all go away for you. I swear, if it were up to me, Weasley would not have to worry about anything in Azkaban killing him."

"Draco," Hermione sighed, taking his hand off of her shoulder but holding it for a moment. "That means a great deal, you know it does." She tried to smile at him, but there were unshed tears in her eyes. "It will take time to fully understand, but I will, and I..."

"Am I interrupting something?" Harry walked into the room, a questioning look on his face.

Hermione patted Malfoy's hand. "He wanted to confound me," she told her husband. "So I wouldn't..."

"Ah," Harry nodded, understanding. "Thanks, mate, but you know she likes to keep her head unmeddled with." He shook his friends hand and slapped his shoulder. "We'll be alright."

"Just letting you know," Malfoy said, turning to face the door. "I will be here to make sure of that. Always." He gave them a serious expression, then said, "I'll leave you two alone." He walked out, not turning back, and closed the door behind him.

"If I wasn't so sure I was totally conscious, I'd think I was still lying in that forest dreaming all of this," Harry bemused, staring at the closed door.

Hermione wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his chest. She inhaled deeply, then moaned softly, exhaling a contented sigh. "I love you," she said, her eyes turning upward. They met his, deep emerald and sparkling at her. "You know, don't you?"

"Mione," he whispered, kissing her forehead, "I've always known." He cupped her face and straightened her up, then placed a hot kiss on her lips. "Luna sends her love."

"Oh?" Hermione's face brightened. "How is she?"

Harry laughed. "Getting bigger by the minute." He looped an arm around her shoulders, then grabbed her briefcase. He turned them round and led them toward the door. "She says Neville's being more of a worrier than usual and he nearly splinched himself trying to put the bassinet together. He kept apparating home with the wrong bits and bobs and having to go back to Malfongo's shoppe."

Hermione laughed and looked at Harry. "Promise me that when..."

"A wave of the wand, love," he assured her. "No taking chances for us." He gripped her tight and kissed her forehead. "Hold on," he said softly.

They both felt the discomfort of the hard and rough tug about the middle that came with apparating, and they immediately checked each other for lost limbs or misplaced parts when they arrived home. Once she was sure he was whole and correctly assembled, she gave him a hard thwap in the head.

"What the bloody-hell was that for, woman?" he gasped, rubbing the side of his skull.

"You're not supposed to apparate in or out of Hogwarts!" she scolded. "Goodness knows you're the only wizard alive who can, but still, the rules apply to..."

"Don't get huffy with me," he teased, pulling her back against him. He gave her a cocky grin and said, proudly, "Rules do not apply to the Potters, darling." He swayed her in his arms as he watched her roll her eyes. "I think that's quite obvious, don't you?"

"Oh, honestly," she breathed, but she knew he was right. He'd broken every wizarding guideline the ministry had, including using the Deathly Hallows to bring his owl back to life. "It wasn't a human resurrection," he'd argued, and that had somehow made it okay. He thought about it, watching the snowy beauty ruffle and preen her feathers in her gilded cage. Harry had broken the Elder wand and thrown it over a cliff immediately after the war had finally ended, but the next morning, it was fully repaired and laying upright against the lamp on his bedside table. He'd tried to destroy it on several occasions in the days following, but it always seemed to repair itself and find its way back to him. After a while, he stopped trying to dispose of it and kept it in a trunk with the stone and his cloak.

Exactly two weeks after the war, though. Harry had laid out the Hollows on his bed and had told Hermione he felt as though they were telling him to do something. To do something...wrong.

Hedwig had come home cooing that very same night.

Hermione had scolded him, cried for him, certain he'd be brought up on charges, but the whole of the Ministry had looked the other way. Shacklebolt himself had said he didn't blame Harry, and then gave written permission for him to use his new powers however he'd see fit. Clearly, though, there were limits. It was part of the reason Ron had grown so angry with Harry.

"You can bring back your bloody bird but my brother is still rotting in a grave!" Ron's words still rang in their ears,and she was hearing them loudly at this moment.

"Mione?" Harry said, prodding her with a kiss. "Where'd you go?"

Reeling from the memories, she blinked and smiled. "Just thinking." She kissed him, and something in his kiss calmed her, filled her head with serenity, made her feel light, strong. "You always do that," she whispered, pulling away from him. She nuzzled his nose, kissed his chin, and pressed her lips again to his.

"Only fair," he snarked, nipping at her bottom lip. "If you could feel what I feel when you work your magic, you'd fly over the moon and back." He pressed her into the wall, moaning only once as he kissed her with more fervor. Heat radiated from them so ferociously that the windows in the living room flew open to keep it from stifling them. He didn't say a word, didn't even wave his hand, and her dress unzipped and pooled around her feet. Her heels and stockings vanished. She was naked against him. He gripped her skin, the tips of his fingers clutching the roundness of her ass as he lifted and pulled her away from the wall.

"Harry, we..." she began to protest, but he wouldn't hear it. He threw her onto the couch and made a dismissive motion with his hand, disrobing himself instantly. He crawled over her and without hesitation, bent his head. He heard her gasp, then moan. He felt her thighs tighten on either side of his head and her nails rake through his hair as he licked, bit, suckled, and devoured her like a starving animal.

She was lost, feeling nothing but love and tremendous pleasure coursing through her, and she rambled almost unintelligibly, begging him to make her scream, and he granted her wish.

He pulled her clit into his mouth, sucking hard and eagerly, both hands on her body holding her down as she threatened to levitate off the couch. He chuckled, still lapping at her, as she calmed, then, licking his own lips, he slid up the curves of her body and nestled himself between her legs. He peered down at her, grinning like a House Elf that'd just been given a hat.

"Pleased?" she questioned, breathless.

He nodded. "Greatly," he said, then without warning, he thrust forward, slamming into her and making her cry his name. He was pleased, and proud, and it gave his usually modest ego a boost knowing he was the only wizard in the world who could reduce the brains of the cleverest witch in history to a puddle of pudding. He moved, hard and fast, then slow and deep, alternating between ravaging and revering. He could never decide between needing to take her in the most primal of ways and paying close and delicate attention to every cell in her body, so he always did both. He blamed it on the part of him, long ago destroyed, that drew him to the darker side of things.

"Harry," she moaned, scratching her nails down his back. She linked her ankles as she wrapped around him and her eyes screwed shut as she cried, "Oh, heavens, Harry." Her thoughts were a jumble of unladylike swears and romantic notions, changing back and forth as he switched his plan of attack. She felt it build, deep and low, and as he continued to pound and kiss and rock and bite, it grew and climbed and bubbled, until finally it poured out of her like an overflowing cauldron.

"Christ, 'Mione," he said twixt gritted teeth. He had fistfuls of her curly hair clenched in his hands as he worked to slam into her as she choked around him. "So beautiful, so amazing," he whispered, finally allowing his head to fall, his mouth to drop open, and the ragged shuddering breaths of blessed release to escape. When he stilled, he kissed her slowly. He loosened his grip on her tendrils and softly stroked her face and neck.

"My God," he smiled.

She blinked, her long amber-colored lashes fluttering as she stared up at him. "Hmmm," she agreed with a weak nod. "You."

"No," he returned. "You. All you. Only you. Always."

She held out a limp hand and snapped her still-trembling fingers. The warm, woolen, hand-knitted blanket that McGonagall had given them as an engagement gift unfolded itself from the back of the sofa and bundled them up. She pulled him down to her, wrapping her hands around his neck. "Always," she whispered.

He closed his eyes, silently casting an acoustic charm, allowing him to hear her heartbeat loud and clear. He listened, letting the rhythm and comfort almost lull him to sleep, but something struck him as odd. He popped up and looked down, then back at her. "Mione!" he said, wide-eyed.

"What?" she asked him, startled and looking just as concerned as him.

"I think you might be..."

A flash of intensely blue flame erupted in the living room before he could finish his thought. The smoke blurred their vision and filled their lungs. Simultaneously, they threw hands up, calling their wands, and cast several protection and healing charms. Hermione magicked them some clothing, and Harry yelled an extinguishing charm along with a loud, "Stupefy!"

The flames vanished all at once, and lying still and confused on their living room rug was a disheveled looking man.

Harry shot to his feet, stepped protectively in front of Hermione, and aimed his wand, a "Sectumsempra" ready and waiting on his tongue. He eyed the intruder sternly, taking a good long look at him. His thick, black beard concealed a filthy face, and his piercing blue eyes peeked up at them in fear and apology.

Panting, the man raised one hand in defense, while the other kept him from sinking into the floorboards. "Harry, don't...please..." he begged, trying to push himself to his feet.

Harry furrowed his brow. He lowered his wand slowly, but kept firm his position in front of Hermione. He tilted his head, wondering how, if at all possible, it was truly happening. "Sirius?" Harry questioned, disbelieving.

The weary man nodded then collapsed back to the floor, the shiny time-turner around his neck glinting in the light's reflection as he landed.

_**Reviews and feedback are much appreciated. Thank you for reading.**_

_**Peace and Love**_

_**Jo**_


	3. Potter's Wheel 3

_**Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work.**_

Huddled together on the couch, Harry and Hermione stared at the disheveled and downtrodden looking man, now up off the floor and sitting on a chair.

"I'm so bloody confused," Harry said, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. His fingertip grazed the scar on his forehead that hadn't hurt in almost five years. "How...why..."

"I should have tried to find you sooner," Sirius said with downcast eyes, holding the steaming mug of warm, calming tea Hermione had conjured up for him. "I didn't know how many times to turn that bloody thing. It's secondhand, bought it at Borgin and Burkes so heaven knows it probably holds a thousand curses."

Hermione shuddered. "Fitting, isn't it?" she said with a sly but sad smile. "The very thing that saved your life the first time seemed to save it again."

"How?" Harry asked once again. "I was there...I saw you...I saw Bellatrix..."

"It wasn't me, Harry," Sirius confessed with a sigh. "Dumbledore..."

"Of course," Harry snapped, huffing. "It's always his doing." He gritted his teeth and gave a hard sigh. "Go on."

Sirius, taking a shaky breath, nodded once and said, "He had it all planned out, and he summoned me to his office that morning. We were discussing our strategy; he gave me a glass of pumpkin juice. It was laced with a powerful sleeping draught and I was out in moments. He hid me away, and he convinced one of the house elves to drink a modified Polyjuice Potion...my hair as a tasteful garnish, mind you...said that, in return, he'd be given clothes and set free."

"An elf?" Hermione yelped. "After everything I'd done...SPEW...the protests...it all meant nothing?"

Harry gave his wife a quick and soft kiss. "No offense, love, but it never really meant much to anyone, darling." He ducked, avoiding her swatting hand, and he chuckled. "It does now, but, honey, back then we all thought the elves were perfectly happy there."

Sirius laughed at their playful banter, but then his face found gloom again. "Anyway," he said, "By the time I came around, it was all over. Done. I finally blasted my way out of the keeping cell...but I knew I couldn't be seen, now. I knew, whatever his reasons, that he must've thought it was in your best interest. I know, now, Harry, that the man only set you up to fail. To be hurt."

"Don't we all," Hermione muttered.

"I transformed," Sirius continued. "Made my ways as a stray for a while, followed a young Muggle boy home from school one day and stayed with his family as a pet when I needed shelter and...it was nice to have companionship," he admitted with a sentimental smile. "It took me so long to find a way back into London, into Diagon Alley. Almost five years. I summoned up the strength to run away from that sweet child and his family, and in the cloak of night, I broke into Borgin and Burke's. I looked for something...anything that would help me set things right."

"You found that," Harry scoffed, pointing at the silver bauble around his godfather's neck. "Fat lot of good it did you."

"Harry, please," Sirius trembled. "I used it to go back to the night of the war. I saw you two kiss for the first time, I even managed to say a painful goodbye to Lupin, and to Tonks." His bottom lip shook beneath his fuzzy mustache. "I was too late to save them, but I saw their souls." He looked up, hopeful. "How is Teddy?"

Harry squeezed Hermione's hand, smiling at the mention of his own godson. "Happy. At Hogwarts. Gryffindor."

"Of course, he is," Sirius chuckled. "I...I saw you two...behind the smoke and the flame...your first kiss. I saw Ron...fuming like the piles of wood and stone, walk away from you. And when I'd overheard where you two'd plan to run off to, I headed you off. I ran to Grimmauld Place, let myself in, and I waited until I stopped shaking long enough to turn this damned thing again, hoping it would lead me here. Now."

"You couldn't have just used the door, though?" Harry joked, scratching his head. "If you'd burst into flames about five minutes sooner, you'd wish you were still in that dungeon."

Sirius laughed heartily. Hermione blushed profusely. Harry wondered what he said that was so funny, he'd been quite serious.

"No, I..." Sirius struggled to find the right way to explain. "I made some pit stops. I went to your wedding, Harry, and I know Lupin, Tonks...even your parents were there. I saw their paintings lining the hall. I watched your mother cry, and your father beam at you, and I noticed the empty frame." He took a hard breath and added, "Now you know why you couldn't get my..."

"You were alive," Harry nodded. "But you were there. That's what...matters."

Sirius nodded. "I also stopped off to see Hermione finish at Hogwarts, your first...and last...Quidditch game as a Chudley Cannon, and I even spent a few moments watching Hermione teach her Muggle Studies class on first day."

Hermione's eyebrows rose. "That was just last month!"

Sirius nodded. "That's how I knew I was getting closer." He looked at Harry. "I never missed a moment of your life, Harry. Not really. As I've told you before, the ones that love us..."

"Never really leave us," Harry finished. He took a breath and calmed his nerves, and he looked over at Hermione before facing Sirius again. "Well, then, what happens now?"

"Now," Sirius said with a troubled look in his eyes, "I tell you the problem." He gulped down the rest of his tea, immediately feeling the relaxing effects of the spell mixed within. "In my eagerness, I turned the dial a few too many times. I went too far out, and I saw..." he blinked and he held the weight of the world on his shoulders as he looked into Harry's eyes. "Ron Weasley knows how to hold a grudge. Harry, my boy, he intends to make sure your son knows just exactly what sort of childhood you, yourself, had."

Harry gave a tilt of his head as he tried to discern the meaning in Sirius' words. "What d'you mean?" he mumbled, his heart racing.

"I think," Hermione said slowly, "It means Ron's going to try to kill our son. Well, when we have one, he will, knowing we will step in just as your parents did. He's going to try to kill us."

Sirius nodded, but then looked at Harry and Hermione, his once dead eyes full of life and passion. "Mark my words, Harry, I will not let that happen. The past is fixable, the future...well, that's entirely preventable."

_**Please, feel welcome to review. Thanks for reading.**_

_**Peace and Love**_

_**Jo**_


	4. Potter's Wheel 4

_**Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work.**_

"Don't, Harry," Hermione whispered, sitting up in bed, one hand draped over Harry's shoulder. She squeezed, looking from the back of her husband's neck to the rusted time-turner in his hands. "Don't even think it."

"We could…" he swallowed hard. "We could change everything."

"Exactly," Hermione said, her tone somewhere between harsh and horrified. "Things happened for a reason, Harry. You know bad things happen to wizards who meddle with time. Why d'y'think Sirius didn't go back farther and save everyone himself?"

Harry turned to Hermione. "We could have…all that time…we did it once, we could have…"

"Harry," Hermione cupped his worried face in her hands. "We saved a man who wasn't dead yet. And a hippogriff that was being wrongfully…"

"My parents didn't deserve to die!" he yelled. "Tonks, Lupin, Dobby, and Fred. If Fred was still alive…"

The only way to stop his babbling was to kiss him, and so she did. Fiercely. When she felt his ragged breathing return to a slow normalcy, she pulled away and pressed her head to his. "Harry," she whispered. "Stop blaming yourself. Things happen, they make us who we are, and we are stronger for it." She kissed him again and the power of it knocked Harry backward onto the mattress. She straddled him and kissed him deeper, claiming him. Pulling back again, she nuzzled him. "None of this is your fault."

"Mione," he muttered, his arms wrapping around the divots of her hips, "I can't…"

She gripped his hands tightly, pulling them off of her and raising them over his head. "Stop," she warned, looking into his eyes. "You wouldn't be who you are…and I wouldn't love you so much. We had to fight, together, survive everything we've done. Dumbledore may have been a manipulative arse, but look where it's lead us."

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and gazed up at her. He tried to move beneath her but she must have been using a strengthening charm to keep her hold on him firm. He stilled, then said, "I would give anything to have been able to love you this much…take you to the Yule Ball instead of Parvati…snog in the hallway between classes…do some things that would have gotten us both expelled, underneath my cloak of, course."

"Harry," she laughed, rolling her eyes.

"Could you imagine, love?" he continued, grinning. "You and I, hidden in plain sight, figuring out where all the bits and bobs go…on Snape's desk? Or right there in the Great Hall, during the final Sorting? Or on the Quidditch Pitch during a Slytherin practice?"

"Goodness, Harry," she said, still laughing, but blushing. "We know…now, we remember…we did our fair share of sneaking 'round."

"I think…I think that's what got to Ron most, you know?" he said, sighing. He squirmed beneath her, using his legs to push up the hem of her nightdress. "The fact that, even after Dumbledore used memory charms and fancy potions, when they all wore off we still couldn't keep our hands off of each other." He smirked at her. "That despite everything, it was always me you really wanted."

"Damn right," she said with a nod, and when she bent her head to kiss him, he bucked up his hips, entering her fast, hitting the ends of her. She cried out into his mouth, nipped his tongue, and responded with her own swaying hips, as if trying to take him deeper.

They found a rhythm, losing full awareness of their surroundings as they only focused on each other. So much so, that they didn't turn their heads when the bedroom door creaked open and a big, black, shaggy dog padded in. With one paw covering its eyes, it bent its head and gently grabbed the fallen time-turner in its teeth. With a wagging tail and a slight smile, the dog scurried right back out of the room.

One thing about dogs: they have incredible, almost magical, hearing.

**_Reviews are welcome and appreciated._**

**_Peace and Love_**

**_Jo_**


	5. Potter's Wheel 5

_**Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work.**_

Harry awoke the next morning, his head throbbing, his legs numb. He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his right hand, his left draped over Hermione's shoulder. He moaned, hearing strange yet familiar noises hitting his ears. "Wot," he groaned, opening one eye. "Bloody owl," he griped, shutting his eyes again. Almost immediately, though, both eyes shot open and he flew to an upright position on the bed. "Shit," he gasped, looking around frantically.

"Harry, what in the name of..." she stopped, then, too, as her eyes focused, the sleep now gone from them, and her curls out of her eyes. "How did we get here?"

"No idea," Harry said on a heaved breath. He threw the maroon and gold quilt off of him and slipped out of the bed, rummaging through an open trunk for something resembling clothes. "Um, Mione, darling?" he questioned, holding up pieces of a uniform he hadn't seen in many years. "Care to explain?"

Hermione's eyes widened and her jaw dropped opened in fuming protest. "You think I did this? Pardon me, but it was you who was babbling nostalgic nonsense last evening! You had that...oh! Harry! Did you fall asleep with the..."

"No," he said too quickly, pulling on the grey pants that surprisingly fit, by the grace of the wizarding gods. "It was on the floor. That much I..." he scratched his head, looked around the room, and asked, "This couldn't be the work of a time-turner, we...we remember...unless we were wearing the thing, we would have no idea..." he threw up his hands, giving up trying to speak, and he looked back at Hermione. He grinned slyly, padding over to the bed. "D'y'know how many nights I spent in this room, picturing you laying in my bed, just like this?" He yanked the lion-emblazoned comforter out of her hands and bent his head, his mouth sealing over one of her freshly exposed nipples.

Her eyes fluttered closed and a soft moan escaped, her head dropping backward. Her left hand held her body up as her right scratched at Harry's scalp. "Can't...wrong...school..."

"Listen to yourself," he chuckled, swirling his tongue over the perked nub. "It's like we never left." He kissed his way up her body, across her neck, and landed a deep, full kiss on her lips. After he pulled away, he nuzzled her nose and said, "Should we see what kind of trouble we've gotten ourselves into? Are you Hermione Potter, Muggle Studies Professor and Head of Gryffindor House, or are you Hermione Granger, bookworm, nerd, hero, and all-around fit bird?"

She rolled her eyes and pushed him away from her playfully, getting out of the bed. "Seeing as how the only thing in that trunk of yours are your school things, I suspect we've indeed been transported back in time. Problem is, my uniform is..."

"In the trunk," Harry said, pointing. "I'm serious. It's there. I don't know why, but it is." He narrowed his eyes as he watched his naked lover rifle through his things to find her clothes, and then he realized. "Sirius," he said, shaking his head.

Hermione's head popped up as she picked up her wand off the floor and conjured herself a bra and underwear, noting they were suspiciously absent from the mix of things in the chest. "You don't think he did this, do you?"

Harry walked over to her, leaned into the trunk to grab his shirt, sweater, and tie, and then nodded. "I do, actually," he turned his head toward her and placed a delicate kiss on her forehead. "Maybe he heard us. Thought he'd do us a favor." He took a moment to look at her, taking her in, and he smiled. "You honestly haven't changed at all. It's one of the reasons I thought, maybe we were still..."

"Oh!" Hermione scrambled to left his sweater up a bit, her hand smoothing over the bit of skin where several thin and dark scars should live. "Harry..." she whispered, looking up at him. "You haven't..."

Before she could finish her sentence, the door creaked open and a squat-looking redheaded young man walked into the room. "The two of you have kept us all down there waiting for a solid hour! We've just about missed breakfast, but I'll thank you to not make us late for class."

Harry squinted, not realizing he hadn't put on his glasses. "Ron?"

"Oh, bloody hell," Ron spat, rolling his eyes and grabbing a pair of spectacles off of the side-table. "Here, you blind bugger, now can we go, before..."

"I thought you weren't coming back!" Hermione intoned just then, staring aghast at Ron, expecting him to do something crass or violent. She squeezed Harry's wrists harder, fearful.

Ron sighed. "I'd rather not've," he said with a nod. "You both know that, but...after mum got your owl, Thursday last, she made me promise to finish strong and...well, I owe it to Fred and George." He smiled at the mention of his brother's names. "Did I tell you they've named their new commodity after you? Potter's Wheel. It heals wounds without all of the nasty side-effects. They've still got bugs to work out, but it'll be brill when it's done."

"Th-th-they?" Harry asked, blinking rapidly. "What...what are you..."

"Honestly," Ron said, interrupting him, grabbing his tie and yanking. "We'll talk about it later, but I really don't want to be the only Eighth Year to get a howler for being late to class on the first day."

Harry let himself be dragged out of the bedroom and down the spiraling stairs, through the Gryffindor common room, and out onto one of the moving staircases, pulling Hermione along for the ride as well. He looked at her, one brow arched, and he tried to communicate with her, questions dancing in his mind. Ron finally stopped leading him like a dog on a leash when they reached a painted portrait of a wizard with a wonky purple hat and long red beard.

"They're all..." Ron began, his eyes turning downward. "They're all going to be asking you all sorts of things," he said softly. "You won't have to answer, but they won't stop asking. Are you..."

"I'll be fine," Harry said, hoping he wasn't lying, hoping he'd know what the answers to the questions were even if he had no intention of saying them out loud. He held out a hand to Hermione, and then smiled at her broadly when she took it. "I'm all right," he said, looking into her eyes.

Ron, though uncomfortable watching them, nodded and cleared his throat before turning to the portrait. "Thestral Tails," he said, taking a step back.

The painting swung open inward, allowing the trio to pass through to a narrow hallway. The wizard tilted his wonky hat and waved before moving back into his place, and Ron led the way toward whatever classroom they were needing. "Where..where the hell are we going?" Harry asked, annoyed, keeping hold of Hermione's hand.

With a chuckle, Ron turned to look at him. "I knew you'd regret not coming on the tour yesterday," he said, rounding a corner. "When they rebuilt, they decided the classrooms needed to afford just as much protection as the dormitories. Well, yours is...nearly impassable, you lucky tosser." He turned fully, then, narrowing his eyes slightly. "You get to sleep with that one," he said, jabbing a finger toward Hermione. "I still have to deal with Neville, Seamus, and Lee, who all think they're the bloody Knights of the Roundtable, acting like heroes just because..."

"They are," Hermione said, now understanding they'd returned to the year following the war, only not the way she remembered. "You are," she added, nodding at Ron.

Ron, though, shook his head. "The only hero among us is you, Harry," Ron told him. "And the ones who've given their lives for this castle, defending it and our entire world." He let his serious sneer curl into a small smile, then, and said, "Bloody overrun with ghosts, we are, now, though, right?"

Harry simply nodded, confused, and followed Ron into the classroom. He waved awkwardly at Professor Flitwick, who seemed to stand much taller now. He didn't let go of Hermione's hand, instead he pulled her into an empty row and sat, letting out a held breath when she sat beside her. Ron, Harry noticed, opted to sit in front of him. He watched the redhead whip out his wand, but it wasn't in preparation for any freshly learned charms. It seemed almost defensive, as if Ron was daring someone, anyone, to say or do anything to insult or bother the two people behind him.

Flitwick's beady bespectacled eyes landed on Harry, and wordlessly he pulled his wand out of the sleeve of his cloak, raised it, and bowed in his direction.

Harry slumped low in his seat, feeling as though the tribute was undeserved, after all, this had all happened five years ago. No one but Hermione knew that, though. He tugged on Hermione's hand and caught her eyes, expecting to see pity or fear, but he only saw pride and love. He'd grown so lost in her eyes that he didn't hear the applause build in the room, or the cheers of his name, or the shouted expressions of gratitude.

"Breathe," she whispered to him, her hand in his, and she sent a calming spell through her palm to his, watching as it washed over him. She smiled and asked, "Better?"

He nodded, and despite the people looking at him, he kissed her before turning to look at Flictwick. "Ready when you are, Professor." Ready for what, though, he had no idea.

Flitwick smiled, raised his wand, and sent a spark of yellow light sailing through the air. No one noticed the brightening of a shadowy corner, and no one saw the black dog sitting patiently there, with a time-turner on a chain around its neck.

_**There is much more to this tale. An explanation is coming. Reviews are appreciated. Thank you for reading.**_

**_Peace and Love_**

**_Jo_**


	6. Potter's Wheel 6

_**Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work.**_

Harry's morning classes were spent ignoring inquisitive classmates and dodging the dumbstruck looks that were fired at him from every angle. He'd never remembered looking forward to the afternoon meal in the Great Hall more than he had today. Sitting on the bench, his face contorted in discomfort, he leaned over to Hermione. "I forgot how uncomfortable these were," he mumbled, shifting in his seat. His hand dropped, slipped under the table, and cupped her knee. With a smirk on his face, he purposely looked away from his wife and let his fingers travel under her grey pleated skirt.

"Harry!" Hermione hissed, her eyes wide, but she made no attempt to stop him.

"Yes, dear?" he quipped innocently, making a small circle in the skin of her thigh with his index finger. His eyes narrowed and darkened, knowing full well the spell he was silently casting was working like, well, a charm. He chuckled, hearing her soft moan, knowing there was pure pleasure coursing through her. "Isn't this what we came back for? If Sirius heard our little chat, then, sweetheart, we have a lot of..."

"Potter," a cold, low voice interrupted, and a tall, thin body flopped onto the bench across from Harry.

"Malfoy," Harry said, startled, nodding at the blonde. He wondered if he would be met with the Draco he knew now, his friend, his brother, or if this time-ripped world had reaffirmed the dark-side of the enemy he'd once known. He bit his lip, waiting, unsure of how he would handle having to re-live the days where Draco was a nemesis and not family.

Draco blinked at him, his bony fingers tapping rapidly on the long wooden table. "I...this is going to sound ridiculously absurd, but I...do the two of you..." he stopped, took a breath, and looked Harry in the eyes. "Last night, I went to sleep in my flat, completely bloody knackered, and I woke up here, back in the dungeons, a foot shorter and..."

"You...you remember, too?" Hermione asked, ensuring her voice was but a whisper. She slapped a hand over Harry's spell-casting hand in her lap and looked around. "It wasn't us, you have to know that. Believe me, if I were going to turn back time...er, again...it wouldn't have anything to do with this place." She shot Harry a long look and smiled at him.

Harry returned her grin, nodded once, then turned to his friend. "We have no idea what happened," he said to Draco. "But, I have to say, I am so relieved to find out you made the trip back with us." He gripped Hermione's hand and, unconcerned, lifted it up and set their linked fingers on the table. "I remember what happened this year, and we...well, I wouldn't be able to live through that again."

"Me, either, mate," Malfoy said with a snort. "We were brought back here for a reason, and if I'm here, too, Harry, I doubt it has anything to do with that smarmy, ginger-haired weasel."

"Tell us how you really feel, Draco," Hermione laughed. "I think...well, Harry thinks...Sirius showed up last night. Don't ask, it's a rather long and quite hurtful story, but he had a time-turner...one that...I'm fairly certain is not...normal."

Draco raised one thin eyebrow and tilted his head. "You suppose he sent us back here? Why?"

"He must've heard us talking," Harry surmised. "I had mentioned that this last year at Hogwarts wasn't happy for any of us, and it should have been the best one of our lives. Freedom, fame, the full-on run of the school..." he smirked. "I had plans for this one," he said, tugging on Hermione's hand. "Maybe Sirius thought he was giving us the chance to have all of that, while, at the same time, preventing..."

"Oh, cricket!" Hermione gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth. With wide eyes she looked at Harry. "He said the future was entirely preventable. He...he said he couldn't save anyone's life, but..."

"He sent us far back enough to keep Ron from hurting..." Harry swallowed the formed bulbous lump in his throat and let his eyes wander over Hermione's form, Sirius's warning of Ron threatening his future son ringing in his ears. "I don't understand. Clearly, Sirius changed a few things. Things had to have happened...well, differently. But if we are still heading for the same shitty outcome, then how the hell are we supposed to..."

"Shh," Hermione hushed, alerting Harry and Draco that Ron was heading their way.

Ron glared at Malfoy as he sat with his overflowing tray of food. "How dare you sit at the Gryffindor table, Malfoy?" he said with disdain and a scowl on his face. He bit into a chicken leg with a growl. "Bloody bastard," he garbled.

Draco simply offered a condescending smirk and a snort. "I can sit anywhere I damn well please, you tosser." He looked back at Harry. "Think," he whispered, eyeing Ron carefully. "What happened? I mean, when did he...change?"

Harry looked at Hermione, puzzled and pensive, then turned to look at Ron. "This morning, you said...Fred and George...how...how are they, um, making this wheel thingymabob? And what does it do, exactly?"

Ron swallowed his mouthful of food, and as he scooped up a heap of mashed potatoes, he cleared his throat. "Well, it's really mostly George, as Fred hasn't quite figured out how to hang 'round for more than a few minutes at a time." He blinked away what might have been tears. "It's a wooden spinner, with a spoke on the end. You concentrate on whatever it is that's causing you pain, physical or emotional or..." he glared at Malfoy. "Mental," he said with a scoff. He looked back at Harry. "Press the spoke into your finger, give the wheel a spin, and if the thing works, it makes the pain stop." He looked back down into his dish, poking at his peas with the end of his fork. "George knew you felt so terribly guilty for all that happened. It took everything Hermione had to pull you out of that hole you dug for yourself, and for a while there we all...we all thought we were going to lose you, when we already lost so much already, and George, well, he couldn't...he refused to lose another brother." He blinked quickly, refusing to cry. "He wanted to give you something to help."

Hermione whispered to Harry, "Fred must be...or he wants to be...a ghost." She pulled herself closer to Harry, snuggling against him and catching his pained eyes. "Um," she looked back at Ron, "How would this...you called it a Potter's Wheel...make the pain go away, exactly?"

"Depends," Ron said, though it was muffled by the treacle tart in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. "It heals wounds, bruises, broken bones," he eyed Harry, "Can't grow 'em back, though," he said with a laugh, elbowing Harry in the ribs lightly. He squinted then. "George can't figure out how to get it to do much else, yet. The only thing that's even been remotely feasible is to meddle with time, but we all know...we know that's a bad idea."

"You said it spins?" Hermione asked, an idea beginning to bug her, pecking at the back of her mind.

Ron nodded, taking another bite of his chicken. "Clockwise if you want to heal yourself, counterclockwise for someone else."

Hermione looked from Ron to Harry, to Draco, and then back to Harry. All three young men were looking at her as if her hair had suddenly caught fire. She jerked shakily and pulled Harry down to her, whispering in his ear.

He backed away with a confounded look on his face. "But where would he get one? Ron said George hasn't even..." he stopped, and then looked at Ron. "What did George do with the ones that didn't work?"

"Turned them into firewood," Ron said, chuckling. Except one. There was this stray dog out back the other day, poor thing looked a hair away from death. George threw him some leftover chops, a half an apple, and one of those useless things to give him something to play with, then shot him a hard _locomotor_ to get him away from the house." He bit into a biscuit and shook his head. "Still can't understand where it came from. It's nearly impossible to get to the Burrow from anyplace in town."

"Stray dog, huh?" Harry hummed as he shot Malfoy a knowing look. "Hedwig," he said, then.

"What about her?" Draco asked, not following the randomness of Harry's thoughts.

Harry threw his hand in the air, casting a privacy charm to prohibit Ron from hearing anything he was about to say to Draco and Hermione. "You asked when Ron lost it," he said, tapping a finger down in the middle of the table. "When I brought back Hedwig." He swallowed and took a breath. "He went mental when I...when _we_ brought her back. He begged me to do the same for Fred but I just couldn't, and that's when he...well, you were there."

Draco nodded, closing his eyes at the horrible memory. 'I was there," he said, choking as he recalled Ron's violent outburst, the insane look in his eyes as he attacked Harry and lunged for Hermione. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth when he remembered taking the hardest blow from Ron, right to the jaw, so Harry wouldn't. He shook away the powerful memory, and the unconscious spell that caused him to relive it so fully, and then he looked at Harry again. "So, what do we do? Do we just not bring the bird back from the..."

"Problem is," Hermione intruded, "Hedwig is in her cage in Harry's...in our bedroom." She tilted her head. "Why, exactly, are we sharing a bedroom, come to think of it?" She eyed Harry. "I remember having to sneak in and out, nearly getting expelled for it, so some things aren't the way they were before. We need to think. We need to ask questions, and we need to find out exactly what's been altered. Because if Sirius has this wheel of George's rigged to that cursed time-turner, there's no telling how far back he went, what he did, and what we've landed ourselves in, is there?"

"Mione, my love," Harry said, rolling his eyes, "Who do you presume we ask?"

"Well, for starters," Hermione said, turning her head slowly and looking into the yellow eyes of a big, black dog at the far end of the hall, "Him."

_**Reviews are appreciated. Thank you for reading.**_

**_Peace and Love_**

**_Jo_**

**_MarchCommaJo on Twitter_**


	7. Potter's Wheel 7

_**Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work.**_

"Unbelievable," Harry muttered, ripping his tie off and tossing it onto the bed. "He didn't know, he says. Was only trying to help, he says!" He pulled his sweater over his head, peeled off his shirt, and threw the items to the ground with a grunt. "Our lives were bloody perfect as they were!"

"Calm down," Hermione said, stepping up behind him and smoothing her hands down his arms. She wrapped them around his waist, then, and placed small kisses between his shoulder blades. "Please, calm down, Harry."

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't know what's real anymore," he said through gritted teeth. "Things I remember never happened, I don't remember anything that did..."

"He told us," Hermione interrupted. "He gave us what we needed to know, and he told you that..."

"I heard him," Harry said, cutting her off. "I just don't believe him." He turned and curved his hands over Hermione's elbows, pulling her tighter around him. He kissed her forehead, and then said, "What are we supposed to do? I was never good at planning these things, that was all you." He looked down at her, sighed again, and shook his head sadly. "Do we have to relive the last five years of our lives all over again? If Sirius doesn't find his chew-toy, what happens then?"

Hermione scratched her nails lightly up and down Harry's back. "We'll think of something," she affirmed. "We always do." She looked around the room. "At least we know how we ended up in this room."

Harry chuckled, licking his lips. "And we know that we really did put that cloak to good use," he laughed. "I just...I wish I could remember making that speech after the war. It sounds bloody brilliant."

Hermione nodded. "It was," she said with a tinge of arousal in her voice. "Parvati Patil showed me in her Pocket-Pensieve. I told her I wanted to see it from her point-of-view, as I was right beside you. Harry, you said some powerful things, you were like the Prime Minister, and everything you said was nothing but pure truth." She trailed her fingers down his back again, dipping them into the waistband of his grey pants. "No one doubted you, at all, and Kingsley Shacklebolt himself decreed that you be given your own private quarters. With me, of course," she said with a prideful smile.

"Oh, I wouldn't have had it any other way," he told her, grinning. He moved, then, kissing her and pulling her toward the bed. He tossed her onto the rather cushy mattress and waved a hand over her, an evil-sounding incantation leaving his lips. Her clothes peeled themselves away from her skin, folded themselves up, and flew into the trunk. "Mione," he breathed, falling onto her, his pants now off and flying toward the chest as well. He slanted his lips over hers as he crooked a finger, beckoning the sheets to wrap around them. He looked down into her eyes, and he smiled.

She lifted a hand and grabbed his glasses, gingerly taking them off of his face and resting them on the side-table. When she looked back at him, his mood had shifted, and he looked close to tears. "My sweet man," she breathed, holding his face in her hands. "Don't do this to yourself. We'll find a way to fix this. But Sirius said there's something we need to do, first. For the sake of...our children." She pressed her lips against his gently, and she said, softly, "Forget it, for now, please?"

He nodded as he swallowed the crying that had built in him, closed his eyes, and kissed her deeply as he moved his hips and worked his way into her. The deeper he moved, the louder their moans became, and he had enough sense to throw up a modified _Muffliato_ to keep anyone from hearing them. Knowing the charm was cast, he grew more eager in his efforts, thrusting harder, faster, grunting a string of swears and her name over and over.

"Harry," she breathed, clawing at his back and arching against him. "Harry," she whined again, begging him for more.

He gave her what she wanted, feeling heat course through him fast. He wasn't going to last long, not in his mood or current frame of mind, and he needed to ensure her crescendo hit before his. He crashed his mouth into hers again, increasing speed and adding just a touch of magic.

"Oh, heavens, yes, Harry!" she groaned out, whimpering and trembling. She clawed his flesh, digging into and around his shoulder blades again, and she let him consume her.

He kissed her again, swallowing the great scream that seemed to be ripped out of her throat. He felt her tighten, her body seize, and he powered through for three more deep thrusts. Spilling into her, he moaned her name and stilled. Dropping his head to hers, he relished in the moment, breathing her in with stinging lungs. "I love you," he said to her. "I've always loved you, and I always will love you. Always."

She nodded. "I know you will, Harry. Unbreakable vows are hard to make, and impossible to break. You're mine, forever, darling."

He chuckled. "And your mine," he whispered, placing a gentle kiss to her lips. He rubbed his nose against hers, dropped his head against her, and with a deeper breath and a sigh, he said, "_In perpetuum promissum_."

"Did you just..." she began, feeling icy flames lick at her skin as his spell wound around their naked bodies.

"I did," he answered, interrupting. "I will make that vow over and over again, without fear or hesitation. I'm never breaking it."

She kissed him slowly, and as she pulled away, she whispered, "Me either, Harry."

The cool, blue fire faded, and with another kiss, he pushed himself up. "Not quite sure where that came from," he chuckled. "Not sorry, though."

She sat up, keeping the sheets around her chest as she moved. "God, I'll never be sorry." She looked around the room, then, and settled against Harry's side. "Tonight," she whispered sadly.

Harry nodded. "And it's got nothing to do with Hedwig, this time. What do I do? What do I say?" he questioned, slipping on his glasses. "Can't exactly say, 'Hey, mate! I'm back from the future to keep you from threatening to kill my unborn children. Fancy a brew down at the pub?' can I?"

She laughed, shaking her head at his words. "You haven't changed much, either, love. I can see that now." She kissed his cheek. "You've got me and Draco right beside you, you know. You won't be facing him alone, and when he says...whatever he says, we'll just tell him the truth."

"He didn't handle the truth so well the first time," Harry grumbled, rolling his eyes. "There's...more truth, now, though. I think all Sirius has done is give us more reasons for him to turn his back on us and want our son to suffer."

She let out an audible sigh, held a hand out toward the trunk, and spat out a quick, _''Accio robes." _Two black cloaks with red and gold trim and shining Gryffindor crests embroidered into them flew into her hand. She handed one to Harry and slipped her arms through the sleeves of another, forgoing wearing anything underneath for the moment. She'd conjure something up when she had to. "Maybe this time he'll take it all better, since it...well,it shouldn't come as much of a shock to him."

Harry furrowed his brow as he fingered the clasps on Hermione's robes, losing himself in thinking. "What if we can't change it, Mione? What if, no matter what, we'll lose him, and have to prepare to fight him off again when the time comes?" He brushed her curly brown hair out of her eyes and his voice dropped low again. "What if it's a prophecy, just like before, and no matter what course or path we take, we'll end up at the same place?"

Hermione looked into his stunning green eyes, her breath hitching at the tumult of emotion that met her there. "If so, then we'll just have to live with it, with fair warning, mind you. We'll be able to protect our child, Harry. You know we will." She brushed the back of her hand along his cheek. "But we have to try, don't we? We haven't been ushered back to the Hogwarts Renaissance for nothing."

"Not for nothing," Harry quipped, grinning like a Cornish pixie and wagging his eyebrows at her. "Having sex on McGonagall's desk in the Headmaster's office alone was worth the trip." He laughed as she rolled her eyes and blushed, and then he kissed her once more. He was about to unhook the closures on her robe when a knock on the door stopped him. He looked at her apologetically, kissed her again, and stood up, walking toward the door as he pulled on his robe. He mumbled something under his breath, conjuring up a pair of boxers just in case his cloak billowed open. He opened his door and grinned. "What'd you find out?" he asked, opening the door and gesturing for his visitor to come into the room.

Draco stepped in, nodding a greeting to Hermione, and plopped into an overstuffed armchair. He flicked a hand at the fireplace, causing it to roar to life, and he looked at Harry with a serious, flat expression. "He's been hanging 'round a few First Year Slytherins," he said, licking his lips. "Convincing them he can arrange a meeting with you, in return for a few favors."

"Favors," Harry repeated, curious, as he perched on the arm of another cushioned chair. He outstretched an arm, beckoning Hermione to come to him. She did so, filling the space between his arm and his chest, and he kissed her forehead. "What favors?"

Draco cleared his throat. "One of the little buggers has a father who trades for Borgin and Burkes. Granted the shoppe has lost quite a bit of business, since dark wizards have all but disappeared since you vanquished Voldemort," he said. "But it still deals in antiquities, things of a vile nature, like the rubbish my bastard father used to keep piling up in our house." He shook away a few bad memories and regrets, then said, "He asked for something from the shoppe. I don't know what, but it can't be anything good."

"Y'know," Harry said, pulling Hermione closer and chuckling, "We had this same conversation our second year." He took a breath and the smile faded as he looked at Draco. "Only it was us and Ron, and we were trying to figure out what the hell you were up to, because we swore you had to be plotting something."

"Was that when you turned yourselves into Crabbe and Goyle?" Draco laughed, shaking his head. "You could've just asked. I might not've been very nice about it, but I would have answered you."

"Well, back then you were a bloody maggot, Malfoy," Harry teased. "None of us trusted you."

Draco looked at Harry solemnly. "My trust had to be earned," he said, "And believe me, Potter, I trust you with my life."

"And I trust you with mine," Harry returned, resting a hand on Draco's shoulder and squeezing firmly. The promise they made to each other the night Harry had, in fact, saved Draco's life rang in his ears, echoing off of the walls of his wracked brain. "And the lives of my family."

"You mean that," Draco nodded.

Hermione smiled. "That goes for me, too, Malfoy," she said, and she blinked away the threat of tears. She had a feeling they would put that trust to the test sooner than anyone had hoped.

_**There is much more to this tale. Reviews are appreciated. Thank you for reading.**_

**_Peace and Love_**

**_Jo_**


	8. Potter's Wheel 8

_**Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work.**_

"Bloody hell," Ron grumbled, settling himself in one of the large sofas in the Gryffindor Common Room. He'd been woken up, rudely he would say, by muffled noises and moans from the room above his. The others in his shared dormitory slept through it, but he couldn't. Though part of him was happy for his two best friends, a bigger part of him was filled with cold resentment, loathing them for what had happened on the night of the final battle. Until that night, he'd been somewhat certain that he and Hermione were heading somewhere, personally, and for a moment he imagined her being the witch he married. He bitterly recalled a particularly awful moment in his life, when a horcrux, cursed by Voldemort himself, had forced him to confront his greatest fear of Hermione choosing to be with Harry and leave him alone, in the leftover muck.

He'c convinced himself it was only the curse playing to his fears and causing him pain, but when Harry walked back through the doors, after finally ridding the wizarding world of Lord Voldemort and his evil plague once and for all, those fears became reality and that pain became unbearable. He blinked his eyes up at the ceiling, watching a rogue snitch buzzing around near the chandelier, and he growled a bit through his closed mouth. He vividly remembered watching as Harry and Hermione had stared at each other, for a good, solid minute, tension thick between them as smoke billowed and bricks crumbled around them. He'd moved to take hold of Hermione's hand, to comfort her, but she'd moved, then, too, right into Harry's opening arms. The kiss was unlike anything he'd ever witnessed, and he'd been able to see quite clearly a puff of pink and silver smoke surround them. He'd counted the seconds, two-hundred-and-forty of them, until they'd broken apart, and, together, turned to look at him with dumbfounded expressions on their faces and tears running down their cheeks.

He'd heard them mutter half-hearted apologies, and he'd given Harry a hard shove for betraying his sister, but in the end, when the damage had been surveyed and the casualties accounted for, he'd been told that Harry and Hermione had been in love for years. Even Ginny had known, and had taken willing part in Dumbledore's wicked concealment of it all. It was said it was all for the best, to keep Harry focused on defeating Voldemort, but once the charms had expired, spells and hexes lifted, it seemed to have been the greatest love story ever told, and he'd willingly stepped aside to let his two friends, the world's heroes, find happiness.

Now, though, having to watch it day after day, minute after minute, was getting to him. The four weeks it had been since the last moment they saw each other until now gave him hope that maybe he could handle it, but the dark feelings stirring in the pit of his stomach every time he laid eyes on them, saw them snogging in the halls between classes, it made him feel a type of sick he thought was worse than death.

In fact, lying on the couch and being forced to envision what Harry and Hermione must be doing a level above him, he welcomed death. He heard the signature screech of Hedwig, the resurrected owl, and his face lost the last of its color. He'd kept his mouth shut, hoping that Harry would offer to make amends for all of the loss that was caused by him, because of him. The longer he waited, though, the more it seemed no such proposition was coming, and now, tonight, he would come out and ask. And if Harry refused to use his new-found power over the living and the dead to bring back his brother, then he was just going to have to change his mind. An evil smirk grew on the landscape of his face, below the beginnings of a scraggly red mustache and just above the stubble on his chin. He knew he could be very persuasive, especially now that he had help from a few First-Years with useful connections.

He forced out a breath as he sat up, figuring whatever it was they had been doing up there, they must be done by now, and as he made his way up the new set of spiral-stairs that led to Harry's quarters, he saw a blur of black, green, and yellow whizz by in front of him. "What the...?" he muttered, shaking his head and moving faster up the steps. As he neared the door, he realized what the blurry figure was. "Malfoy?" he asked disdainfully.

Draco Malfoy turned and sneered at Ron. "I stand by what I said when we first met, Potter," he said, staring at Weasley but addressing Harry, "Some wizards are better than others, and you really shouldn't have gone making friends with the wrong sort."

"Sorted it out, though, didn't we?" Harry offered in a whisper with a knowing look and a nod. "Evening, Ron," he said, finally acknowledging the redhead. "We know why you're here."

"I can't pop in to visit my best mates?" Ron scoffed, narrowing his eyes. "Malfoy shouldn't even been out of the dungeons this time of night, and yet, I'm the one who needs a bloody good reason to be up here?"

"Relax," Harry said fast, holding up a hand, preparing to use a defensive spell if need be. "I just meant...well, your little Slytherin buds let Draco in on your stratagem, here, and I...I just want to say, before you even ask, I simply can't. You know why. The ministry looked the other way, because it was an owl." He took a step closer to Ron, heat filling his palm and spreading to his fingers, readying a mental_expelliarmus _ just in case. "Don't you think if I could...if I was willing to...I'd have already brought back my parents? Tonks, Lupin, Moody, or even bloody Snape? I'm not refusing to bring back Fred, I'm not denying to do you or your family any favors, but resurrecting a human being has terrible..."

"Oh, damn it to bloody hell with the consequences!" Ron fumed. "You didn't give a rat's arse about consequences when you stole Hermione out from under my feet, or broke my sister's heart! You didn't think about consequences when you told the whole of Hogwarts the truth about Dumbledore and Voldemort, and you damn sure didn't think about consequences when you stepped into the role of King Potter, high and mighty! You're eating this up, aren't you? The attention, the fame, the fact that you could do anything you damn well please and no one will question it!"

Harry felt the sparks of his spell sputtering under his fingernails, hoping he would be able to quell them in a moment, and not use them. "Damn it, Ron," he hissed, shaking his head. "You know fame never mattered to me. I would've just as soon been ignored for the last seven years than be The-Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived! You think I enjoy people popping out in front of me for a photo every five minutes? You think I appreciate people asking my wife inappropriate questions and trying to grab her bits? You honestly think, after all this time, anything at all would take priority over you and your family?" He choked back tears and tried to lower his voice and calm his agitating temper, the spell would fire at will if he didn't. He took a deep breath. "Your parents, they're like mine. Your brothers, are mine. Your sister...she knew...the whole time, what she was doing, and all about Hermione. In fact, she took it upon herself to cast a few of those memory charms on us when she didn't think Dumbledore would. But I still think of her like a little sister. I would never, and you have to believe me, refuse to do anything for any of them. But this...this one thing is... I mean, do you even know what you're asking?"

Ron, hot tears rolling down his face, shook his head and crumpled to the floor, letting out the pent up emotions that had been eating away at him for weeks. "You don't understand. I thought you, of all people, would get it, but you just..." he paused, looked up and to his left, and the anger crept back in. He clenched his jaw tightly, shot to his feet, and whipped out his wand. He aimed it first at Draco, but then turned sharply and pointed it at Harry and said, "Malfoy? Really? Since when are you best mates with the scum of the earth? The hell he put all of us through? The foul things he said to Hermione?"

"She got even with me for that," Draco said, wagging his jaw from side to side and rubbing his cheek, remembering the punch she'd landed on him so long ago. He looked at Ron. "I apologized, after this whole ordeal...we've all been through enough. You all aren't the only ones who suffered a great loss that night. I, unlike you, am willing to accept that loss, knowing it had to happen for us to end up where we are, where we're going." There was something swirling in his eyes as he spoke, and he waved the fingers of his left hand around unintentionally. "I realized I'd been fighting for the wrong side all my life. I understood that my father wasn't the great man I thought he was, he was a coward and filled his own head with false conviction to save his own hide, not caring who was left to die, including me." His eyes clouded over with hazy green smoke and he said, "I'm grateful for that night, though I am deeply sorry for the lives that were lost, but I'm honored and thankful to be able to say that my life was saved by the one person who had every right and reason to let me die."

"Draco," Harry warned, taking a hesitant step toward him and slowly reaching for his left wrist.

Malfoy simply laughed and moved out of the way, staring intently at Ron as he said, "Seems the tables have turned, now, haven't they? You're the one plotting against them, and I'm the one standing here, telling you, you'll have to go through me, first." He quickly raised his arm and a glowing, green orb flew out of his palm and struck Ron in the chest, knocking him back into the wall of the corridor. There was a bit of smoke, and the impact left a few cracks in the stone.

"What...what did you do?" Harry muttered with wide eyes.

Hermione heard the crash and ran out into the hallway, her wide eyes darting from Draco, to Harry, and then to Ron, who was flat on the floor with a blank expression on his face, out cold. "What happened out here?"

Draco shook away the remaining magical energy surrounding him as he calmed himself, and he took a breath as he smoothed out his green and silver striped tie. "Remember, Hermione, when I asked you if you wanted me to help you forget all of this?"

Hermione nodded and wrapped both of her arms around one of Harry's, pulling herself into him. "Yes, of course," she said. And then she gasped. "You didn't!"

"When he wakes up," Draco said, tugging down his jacket sleeves, "He won't remember."

Harry balked for a moment, and then took a step toward Draco. "What won't he remember, Malfoy?"

Draco looked at Harry, his expression half-apology and half-smug. "Anything, I hope. But he definitely won't remember this," he said with a single nod. He moved then, quickly, and picked up Ron's fallen wand. He snapped it in two, ignoring the squeal from Hermione. "It isn't his," he said, and he tugged gently on the string-like core dangling between the two broken pieces. He held it up between his two fingers, letting the hallway torch light bounce and reflect off of it.

"Is that..." Hermione began, moving closer in a mix of awe and fear. "Oh! Oh, Harry!" she turned to look at her husband, color gone from her face as she trembled a bit. "Ron was...if he would have..."

"What is it, anyway?" Harry said, rolling his eyes, unsure of what all the fuss was about. "It's probably unicorn hair or..."

"Thestral," Draco said, his lips flattening and his eyebrow arching. When Harry didn't react, he rolled his eyes. "You may be the most powerful wizard to walk the earth, but you're still a git, Potter," he said, teasing him. "Thestral hair...the same thing that lives in the core of your _other_ wand. You know the one."

Harry's eyes narrowed, and then widened. "The Elder Wand," he said on a breath. "I thought it was the only one of its kind."

"It's the only one that works," Hermione said, correcting him as she was one to do. "Thestral hair is very unstable, and if it's used as the core of a wand, the unpredictable nature of it causes every spell that's cast to be more intense, with more damage than intended done as a result. If it's not contained in the right shell, a simple _wingardium leviosa _could send a person flying through the roof." She looked at Draco, and then at Harry. "The Elder Wand is the only one of its kind that can be controlled, and it's why it only answers to one person at a time. In the wrong hands, it would be disastrous." She looked down at Ron, still and sleeping. "He meant to make you teach him how to use it. He was trying to get his hands on the cloak and stone, too, I'm sure of it."

"You think he wanted to bring Fred back himself?" Harry asked.

Draco curled the Thestral hair around his long, thing finger and hummed an affirmative sound. "This must've been what that little shit brought to him from Borgin and Burkes. The only people who'd even attempt to create one are those bleedin' dark bastards." He smiled, then, tossing the hair into the air and flicking his own wand at it. The hair caught fire, a swirl of amber flames engulfed it, and then faded away. "There's only one way to find out."

"No, mate, you can't," Harry said, shaking his head. "You said Ron wouldn't remember..."

"I said he wouldn't remember now, tonight, this," Draco said, trying to emphasize the unsure nature of his spell. "I was right pissed off, bloody furious, but I wasn't consciously trying to wipe his entire life away. There's no telling what he'll actually remember until he wakes up, and if he still has wicked betrayal in his heart and that mental idea in his head, we need to be ready for him, don't we?"

"What are you thinking of doing, Draco?" Hermione asked, though she knew she wouldn't like the answer.

Draco grinned at her. "You and Harry know I'm not an evil son-of-a-bitch anymore," he said with a laugh. "But Caractacus Burke sure as hell doesn't."

_**Peace and Love**_

_**Jo**_

_**MarchCommaJo on Twitter**_


	9. Potter's Wheel 9

_**Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work.**_

Ron awoke just after noon, his head throbbing. He rubbed his eyes, tried to sit up, but the overwhelming urge to vomit hit him fast, and he shot up and barely made it to the bin in time. After retching again, he moaned pitifully and slumped to the ground.

"All right, Ron?" a voice asked, the young man perched on the end of another bed. He tilted his head, as if deciding something.

Ron groaned again and closed his eyes as his head lolled back against the wall. "No, I'm not," he mumbled through barely opened lips. "What...what happened to me?" He looked toward the one who'd spoken to him, blinking quickly. "Har...Harry?"

Harry stood up, moved toward him, and then knelt down. "Yeah, it's me." He exhaled sharply. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Ron's eyes stared blankly ahead, unblinking. "I don't...I don't remember." He squinted, as if trying to see a distant memory before him. "I think...I remember pieces of things, but they don't...they don't add up to a whole." He tried to move again, but he lurched.

Harry's quick reflexes and powerful magic brought the bin in front of Ron just as he threw up again. "I think you've got a rather awful concussion," he said. "You took a pretty good knock to the head."

"How?" Ron questioned, sliding the bin back against the wall, but keeping it beside him. "I don't...it wasn't...the war? No, that was...a while ago. Quidditch? Did we...did we at least win?"

"Haven't started playing yet," Harry said, looping an arm under Ron's. "Come on, mate. Back to bed with you." He steadied Ron and eased him back over to his bed, made sure he was lying comfortably, and then asked, "You really don't remember? Anything?"

Ron closed his eyes again, giving another pitiful moan. "The last thing I remember, vividly, clearly, is you and Hermione going camping, or something." He furrowed his brows, making his closed eyes clench a bit tighter. "There were spiders. So many spiders."

Harry chuckled, watching a glimpse of the friend he knew and loved peek through the cracks a bit. "Rest, Ron. Mione and I got all your missed work, and McGonagall is sending Madame Pomfrey up here in a while to check that bump on your head."

"Mm kay," Ron mumbled, and the next moment he was fast asleep.

Harry looked toward the door, shaking his head. "You really did a number on him."

Draco stepped into the light of the room, his cloaked arms folded and his trademark blonde hair in his eyes. "He deserved it," he sneered, his eyes narrowing at Ron's weak form. "If I hadn't..."

"I know," Harry said. "Thanks." He took a step and gave Draco a brotherly squeeze on the shoulder. "Did you go down to Borgin and Burkes?"

Malfoy nodded, crooking his finger and beckoning Harry toward the common room. "Don't want him to hear us, even if he is half-mad at the moment." He sat on one of the red and gold couches, and then watched Harry move as he did the same. "Caractacus broke down the moment he saw me. Tears, begging me not to hex him."

Harry chuckled. "Well, after what he did with all of your father's things, he probably thought you would." He waved a hand toward the fireplace, watching it roar, and then snapped his fingers toward the tea cart in the corner. The silver pot tipped on its own, pouring three cups full, and then the cream and cubed sugar settled itself into the tea. A spoon rose off of the cart and stirred the cups, one by one, and then, very slowly, the three cups flew through the air toward Harry.

"Three?" Draco questioned, holding out his hand and chuckling as one cup of tea landed in his open palm.

Harry, holding two cups, nodded as he sipped the one that had been claimed as his. He eyed the common room door and as soon as he swallowed, the painting swung inward, singing an off-key aria. "For her," he said, smiling as Hermoine walked in, dropped her books and scrolls onto the center table, and sat almost on Harry's lap. He handed her the remaining cup and kissed her cheek.

"Oh, thank you," she said, turning her head and returning his kiss, a short one on the lips.

"if you don't mind?" Malfoy said, rolling his eyes.

Harry laughed. "Right, sorry, go on."

Draco took a sip of his tea before speaking. "Once I told him I had no intention of hurting him, he sniveled and sniffled, and then asked what I wanted." He looked back toward Ron's dormitory, and then leaned forward. "I asked if he knew anything about someone making wands with cores of Thestral hair, and he went completely white. He stuttered out an apology and told me some leftover Death-Eater came to him, two weeks ago, paid him a rather large sum of money. Told me he was commissioned to make two of them. He did, he said, and the first shattered into bits when he tested it. The second was stolen from his back room, Monday last."

"Stolen?" Hermione queried, sipping her tea. "That young Slytherin, he must've gone to work with his father, hung around back there, and when the coast was clear, took the wand for Ron."

Draco looked at Hermione. "I asked him, you know, what this so-called Death-Eater looked like, and he said he couldn't see his face but had thin, red hair." He downed the rest of his tea in a single gulp, and then tossed the cup and saucer into the air. In slow motion, they flew toward the dishpan on the lower shelf of the tea cart. "I think it was Weasley," he said. "And I think he knew that we would notice if he left the grounds without one of you, so he enlisted the help of that brat. It was his wand all along, he just needed a way to get it into the castle without raising suspicion."

Hermione looked at Harry, then. "Has he woken up, yet?"

Harry shook his head and took the final sip of his own tea. "He was up and about for all of about five minutes. He tossed his sauce a few times, told me the last thing he remembers is us camping in a sea of spiders, and then he conked out again." He let his spent dishes make the same journey Draco's had.

"Good," Hermione said, sipping. "I'm grateful he doesn't remember what happened last night, for a lot of reasons, but mostly...did you know you called me your wife?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "You are," he said, not seeing the problem.

"No, you called me your wife, while you were yelling at Ron," she said, her eyes trying to explain as much as her words. "Harry, we've gone back five years, and while we may be sharing quarters, and obviously in a rather publicly broadcast relationship, you're still only seventeen. We haven't gotten married yet, as far as anyone here is concerned, other than Draco."

"Well, shit," Harry said with a laugh. "If he would've caught that last night, there'd be a whole new level to his fury, wouldn't there?" He kissed Hermione's forehead, and then looked back at Draco. "Did you ask him about any other cloaks and stones roaming about?"

"You've got the only stone," Draco said. "That much we know. Not for lack of trying. Burke even tried to hire Nicolas Flamel's great-great-great-great grandson, but the poor kid has no discernible talent for alchemy. The cloak, though, while you've got the only one known to exist that won't fade or lose power, they're easy enough to make. There were four in the shop when I was there, took them all with me when I left, so you-know-who wouldn't be able to get his hands on them."

Harry raised one eyebrow, twisting his lips in a confused coil. "Excuse me?"

"Weasley," Draco said, as if Harry should've known exactly who he'd meant.

"Oh, right," Harry returned. "Just...haven't heard anyone say that since...since Voldemort."

Draco blinked. "I hate to say this, but it is rather fitting." He looked at his friend with a gravity in his eyes. "He's after the same things Voldemort wanted from you, though for an entirely different reason. Dumbledore, bastard that he was, gave you everything you needed to defeat Old Snake-Eyes. He gave you the cloak first, then made sure you'd be the one to take possession of the stone, and then he worked his wretched dark magic to make certain you'd win that battle, taking sole ownership of that wand. Even with all his deceit and torture, he gave the Deathly Hallows to the one person who'd never use them for selfish gain. Well, except to bring back your bloody bird."

Hermione blinked. "McGonagall gave me the Time-Turner, you were given Gryffindor's sword and that bewitched snitch, maybe...maybe Dumbledore knew, since he knew he was going to die anyway, that all of that power had to be left in your hands. He just never counted on you discovering the truth about him, all he had done, and your refusal to carry on his legacy and finish what he started."

Draco nodded. "History repeats itself, right?" he said, biting his lip. "That's why we're here. We had to come back, or, at least, Sirius believes we did, to keep Weasley from becoming the next Lord Voldemort, to keep your son from having to live the cursed life you did. Sirius said Ron wanted your boy to suffer, in exactly the same way you had. I know what that means, and I know damn well you two would sacrifice yourselves just the same as your mum and dad did for you, Harry." He blinked and his eyes opened wider as if he realized something. In fact, he had. "And Sirius brought me back, with you, to do what he couldn't do the first time 'round. Help you end it before it starts. Which can only mean one thing." He looked at Hermione, smiled, and then looked at Harry. "I'm going to be his Godfather."

_**There is much more to this tale. Reviews are appreciated. Thank you for reading.**_

**_Peace and Love_**

**_Jo_**


	10. Potter's Wheel 10

_**Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work.**_

"What class do we have next?" Ron asked, rubbing his eyes. It had been days and still his head ached. His memories were jumbled and there were moments he swore he had no idea who anyone was, or even who he was. "Wait, do we have classes today?"

"Muggle Studies," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, Ronald, don't you write these things down?"

Ron squinted at her. "Why am I taking Muggle Studies? If I have a question about Muggles, I'd just ask you or Harry." He looked down at the quill in his hand. "What was I doing?"

Harry couldn't help but chuckle, his low laugh escaping with a snort. "You're working on your potions assignment. Thirteen inches, the qualities of Flobberworm Mucas and its uses? Is any of this ringing a bell?"

"No," Ron said dryly, twirling the quill around in his hand. "Back to my original question...why am I taking..."

"Because, Ronald," Hermione interrupted, "Your father wants you to work with his old department after graduation, and you have to take the class." She looked over at him, wincing at the large yellowish-purplish bruise on his forehead. She felt a bit guilty, but knew it was well-deserved. "Do you want me to..."

"You've already tried," Ron said, snapping at her. Regretting it, he mumbled an apology and said, "Healing spells haven't worked. I don't remember what happened, but it had to have been powerful magic to be unfazed by counterspells."

Malfoy, sitting on the other side of Harry, let out a roar of a laugh and gathered his books. "Come on, you two," he said, addressing Hermione and Harry. "We'll be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"How can we be late?" Harry said, tugging on his striped tie and standing. He looked smugly at Draco. "I'm the teacher."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Teaching Assistant," she corrected. "You can't legally be the teacher when you're still a student. They aren't even paying you, you know, and you..." she stopped, seeing the look both men were giving her. She smiled sheepishly and said, "I heard that, I did, I sounded like...well...me...before."

Harry held out his hand, bowing his head politely.

She let her fingers fall into his open palm and hid the fact that she was blushing, loving that he still made her blush wickedly, and she let him pull her around the table. "Off with you, too, then, Ron. I don't think Professor Slockhem will be as understanding if you're late."

"Who?" Ron asked, looking up. "Wait! Where are you all going? Where...um...where am I going?" He grabbed all of his things in one arm and ran, catching up with them as he tried to remember what day it was.

"How long is he going to be like this?" Harry asked in a harsh whisper, directing the question to Malfoy. "It's rather annoying, really."

"I don't bloody know," Draco scoffed as an answer. "I was pissed the hell off when I fired that spell at him, and I guess it was more powerful than I'd meant. Or...or less powerful. At any rate, he's completely crackers, now, isn't he? And that's good for us."

Harry sighed and rounded the corner, walking down a narrow hallway and heading toward a large painting of a golden Hippogriff. "Buckbeak's Talons," he said, backing up a bit allowing the door to swing open. He helped Hermione into the room, waited for Malfoy, and then just as he was about to head in, he crashed into Ron. "No, no, stop," he said, grabbing and tugging on Ron's robes. "You have Muggle Studies. Down the hall, make a right at the end, find the picture of...no, you'll end up in Hagrid's hut or something." He looked into the classroom. "Dean, can you take Ron, here, to Muggle Studies? He's, um, a bit wonky today."

"Today?" Dean Thomas cracked, shaking his head. "No problem, Harry." He walked over, taking Ron by the tie, and pulled him along like a dog on a leash.

Once they were out of sight, Harry entered the room and stared out at the faces of friends, former classmates, some of whom he couldn't remember talking to or about for the last five years. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "This won't be a normal..."

"Tell us again how you knew Dumbledore was hexing you and Granger?" a voice from the back called.

Another voice, one that spoke higher and more dreamily, said, "Does it get boring being so gorgeous?"

"Excuse me?" Hermione and Harry asked together, though one was angry and the other perplexed.

Harry stepped over to Hermione and pushed her gently back into her seat, keeping her from cursing the witch who'd called out, before he turned to look at the others. "I'm not...this is supposed to be..."

"How, exactly, did you defeat You-Know-Who, Harry?" another voice interrupted him. With that question, voices overlapped and questions garbled together until all that could be heard was a cacophony of gibberish.

"Silencio!" Harry shouted, waving a hand over his head. He blinked once, staring at the stunned, silent students. "Sorry, but...please...don't ask. I'm only here to help you, teach you...the way I once taught...well, we called ourselves Dumbledore's Army, but looking back on it, we really should have been fighting against him, not for him." He waved his hand again, giving them each back their voice but knowing now they'd be quiet. "You all know we really don't have much use for defensive magic anymore, but you never know...you never know when someone will turn, when a friend...you thought you could trust...may become an enemy. You need to be aware of your options, you need to be prepared to fight, so that we don't find ourselves facing..."

"Another Voldemort," Malfoy finished, staring intently at his friend.

Harry nodded. "Exactly."

"Have I missed anything?" Dean asked, coming through the door again, holding something wooden and round and slightly weathered in his hands.

"Not really," Harry said, but then he noticed the object. "What've you got there?"

"Oh, it's for you," Dean said, holding it out to Harry. "Some weird-looking fellow asked me to make sure you got it. He was hanging 'round outside the Fat Lady, I passed him on my way back."

Harry turned the ball-like thing around in his hands. "Weird-looking? How?"

"He looked like a dog-man, like a min-sized dog standing on his hind legs?" Dean said, trying to explain. "Anyway, he asked if I knew where to find you, told me to give you that. Said you'd been looking for it, but it won't work without the other thing."

Harry stared at Dean for a moment. "You are complete rubbish at delivering messages."

"I'm not a bloody owl, Harry," Dean said, rolling his eyes and taking his seat next to Ginny Weasley.

Harry looked down again, and then it hit him. "Mione?" he whispered, tossing the sphere over to her. "Sort of looks like a spinning top, doesn't it?"

"And it won't work without the...other thing..." she said, catching on. "This must be the Potter's Wheel." She looked at Harry, and then turned toward Malfoy. "But he's lost the..."

"Time-turner," Draco said, slumping in his seat. "Well, that's bloody fabulous. I hated this place the first time, and now, because of his mental Godfather, I have to..." he stopped. "No, I...know why. Look, we'll figure it out later, Professor Potter has his knickers in a knot."

Hermione chuckled. "He'd have to be wearing them, though, wouldn't he?"

"Didn't really need to know that, thank you," Draco spat back, rolling his eyes. He looked at Harry and waved a finger around, drawing a symbol in the air.

Harry nodded at him, understanding, and cleared his throat again. "First things first," he said, addressing the class. "I need to see if you know the basics, so, um, Ginny and Padma, would you come up here, please?"

While the girls were moving, in the bustle and shifting of bodies and seats, Malfoy got out of his own seat and headed out the door, looking up and down the hall before stepping fully out into the corridor. "All right," he said, a shouted whisper. "Sirius, you can show yourself."

A black dog padded out of the shadows and the figure stretched and shifted into that of a man, average height, long hair and a rather tame mustache with a scruffy beard. His clothes were tattered around the hems but stately enough, and he took two soft steps toward Malfoy. "Are you all cross with me?" he asked, worried.

"Not as much as we are worried that we can't get back," Malfoy said. "I think I've already taken care of the..."

"You haven't," Sirius interrupted. "It's what I was trying to tell Harry, the night I went to him. We can alter events, I've already changed some things by going back and forth as much as I have, but here, now, though you've mangled his memory a bit, his desire for revenge is only growing stronger. Subconsciously, he still feels the need to act on those impulses and..."

"How do you know that?" Draco interrupted. "Five minutes with him, and I feel like I'm the one that's been hit in the head, so how the hell could you possibly understand what he..."

"I've been sleeping under his bed," Sirius said, again cutting him off. "It's the only way to stop him if he tries something, if you all aren't there, and...he talks in his sleep. Usually about spiders and food, but last night...last night it was about Harry, Hermione, their son, you...Ron still has plans, and they're still in his mind, somewhere. Once your charm wears off, no matter how powerfully confounded or obliviated you may think he is, he still wants them to suffer the sort of loss his family has."

"So even if we went back...home...now," Draco said, taking a breath, "We'd still be facing this?"

Sirius nodded. "We have two choices, now, Draco," he said. "The three of you go home, take your chances and hope things work out in your favor, or..." He narrowed his eyes. "You and I take care of the matter a bit more...traditionally Black and Malfoy than they would like."

"If you are even suggesting what I think you might be, you can bloody well sod off," Malfoy said with a sneer. "I promised my mother, Harry, and myself...the night the war ended...that I would leave every dark thought and belief my daft plonker of a father handed me buried in the rubble with the rest of the damage and devastation! I won't go back on my word, and I'm not about to bring back a curse that took fifty years to eviscerate, one that would make my soul as black as my father's. Have you gone mad?"

Sirius took a breath and took a step back. "No, no, you're right. Maybe...maybe there is a way to reason with him before our time here runs out. But if there isn't...make sure they know, I'm willing to do for them what I should've been there to do for James and Lily." He shoved his hands in his pockets, wrapping one set of large fingers around a round, brass object, the size of a pocket-watch. "Everyone but the three of you thinks I'm dead, anyway." He backed away from Malfoy slowly before turning on his heels and walking a bit faster, changing form again, and racing down the hall on all four of his paws.

Draco watched until he couldn't see him anymore, and then turned back toward the Hippogriff painting. "Buckbeak's Talons," he said, winning admission to the classroom. He felt his heart drop, though, a sinking feeling washing over him, as though a heavy rock had hit the very bottom of his stomach. " , God, no," he whispered to himself, suddenly looking over his shoulder. He was too late, he knew. He only hoped Sirius would come to his senses before he made more of a mess of things than he already had.

**_Peace and Love_**

**_Jo_**


	11. Potter's Wheel 11

_**Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work.**_

"Mione?" Harry asked, one arm draped around her body, holding her close to him. His fingers danced along the skin of her shoulder and trailed perilously close to her chest, teasing and raising goose-bumps on her alabaster skin.

"Hmm?" she replied, a half-response, half-moan.

He turned his head, his shaggy black hair falling into his eyes, covering the scar that held a lifetime of painful memories, yet no longer physically hurt. "Coming back here, now, does it make you regret anything? About us? If we can't get back home, you've got to live the last five years over again, and..."

"And I will marry you, all over again, if I have to," she whispered, turning her chin up a bit and looking into his green eyes. "Unbreakable vows...can't be unbound, even by going back in time." She kissed a patch of skin just above his collar bone, peppering short pecks along his neck, up to his chin, finally landing on his lips. "I love you, you daft man. How could you possibly think..."

"Things are different," he interrupted, shrugging. "I thought, maybe, with certain things having changed..."

"I love you," she told him again, cutting him off. "I know parts of you are still not used to having someone love you as deeply, as honestly and purely as I do, but Harry, I have been through hell and back with you. I would do it all again if I had to."

He kissed her fiercely, his lips capturing hers and a growling moan, filled with desperate desire, left his mouth. He pulled her body over his, for the second time that night, finding her entrance easily and thrusting upward hard. He caught her surprised scream in his mouth and chuckled as he began to move. "You were there," he moaned between kisses, "Whenever I needed you. Whenever I needed someone, it was always you."

"And it always will be," she said, rocking her hips against his. As she moved, kissing him, she thought back and realized, he was right. It had always been her.

Their first year at Hogwarts, she stayed by Harry's side on his journey to save the stone, even when Ron had been injured. She had been the one to think of the answers Harry needed to get inside the Chamber of Secrets, even though she'd been petrified when he realized it all. She had been the one to travel through time with him, the first time, to save Sirius, someone she'd never even met, for the sole reason that he was Harry's Godfather. She'd been more afraid of his participation in the Triwizard tournament than anything. She'd used Victor Krum's crush on her to distract him, giving Harry an advantage.

Her heart was always, always, with Harry, even when she physically wasn't. She'd been terrified that something awful would happen to him, that even The Order wouldn't be able to stop, so she took it upon herself to send up protective spells and enchantments for him, some without his knowledge or consent. After Dumbledore's death, years of obliviated memories flooded back to her, kisses and nights spent hidden away with him in the owlry, walks around the lake, midnight rides on his broomstick in his attempt to make her love to fly. It all hit so fast, so hard.

And the year leading up to The War, she was the one to stay with him, fight with him, hunt down Voldemort's horcruxes with him. She wiped her own parents' memories to protect them, but also so she could stay with Harry without them worrying about her. Those weeks alone together, after Ron had run off, were some of the best moments of her life. She realized she loved him, truly loved him, then, and after the final battle had been won, and he came back to her, alive, she knew she'd never let him out of her sight again, she'd never risk losing him again, and she'd never love anyone the way she loved him. She snapped back to the present moment with one realization: it wasn't always her, no. It was always him.

"Mione," he moaned, slowing his motions but making his thrusts more forceful and deep, bringing them closer and closer to the absolute edge. "Darling," he murmured, craning his neck and kissing her again, a strength in his lips and tongue that seemed to pull out the little dregs of resistance they had left.

It was quiet, but powerful, and several objects flew off of the shelves, knocking over some furniture and shattering a window. It wasn't the first time they'd expelled accidental magic in the throes of blissful passion, but it was the first time it had happened quite so unexpectedly, in the newly built wing of Hogwarts. He kissed her as he calmed her, his hands smoothing over her back as his own body tingled and twitched with the remains of his release, and he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, lavender colored smoke dissipating beside the bed. "Did it again, have we?" he chuckled.

She nodded into his chest, giving one final rock of her hips and a soft moan of his name. "I told you. I'd make our vows again, and again, and then again. I love you."

"I love you," he whispered to her, kissing her forehead. A shrill shriek hit their ears, then, and at first, Harry opened his mouth to scold Hedwig, but she wasn't in her cage. He looked around, confused. "What in blazes..."

"The Sneakoscope," Hermione said, pulling herself away from Harry and running toward a collection of fallen and strewn objects. She waved a hand and mumbled something, urging the mess to clean itself up. Another flick of her wrist and her night-robe flew into her hand. She wrapped it around herself and then knelt down to pick up the whirring, whistling, spinner. "Someone's coming," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Someone who can't be trusted."

"Ron," Harry said, sitting up. He grabbed his own robe from the bedpost and pulled it on, springing to his feet. He threw himself in front of Hermione and raised a hand, firing a loud, "Protego" into the air just as their door burst down.

Ron stood behind the cloud of dust, his wand raised, his eyes wide and filled with rage. "I remember everything," he said through gritted teeth. "So clearly." He took a step forward. "You're meant to be my friends? And you...do...this?" he shot a hand toward them, indicating their state of nearly-undressed and obvious post-coitality. "And you..." he aimed his wand at Harry, "You had the power to change things, fix things, and you wouldn't. My mum cries herself to sleep nearly every night, George is completely off his rocker...did you know he hasn't been able to produce a patronus since Fred died? He hasn't laughed, not the way he used to. As for Fred, he comes and goes, but ghosts need to have unfinished business, something left undone, a regret of some sort...do you know...do you know that my brother is proud of the way he died? He's completely at ease with getting himself killed...because of you!"

Hermione saw the spark before Harry and threw up another, stronger, shield. "Ron, stop! Please!"

"One way to make this all go away," Ron barked, taking another step closer. He tilted his head though, when he noticed neither of them had their wand. "Hold on, how did you..." Before he could finish speaking, a white blur flew through the air and a pile of fluffy feathers landed on his head. "What the...ow! Ouch! Bloody owl," he spat, waving his hands frantically, trying to ward off Hedwig's pecking and nipping. In the flailing and chaos, he lost the grip on his wand and it hit the wall of the room.

Hermione held out a hand and shouted, "Accio," grasping tightly when the crooked handle flew into her palm. She held it out, trying to make a moral decision of some sort. There were a number of jinxes and hexes she could infuse into the very core of the thing, or she could dig deeper into the restricted section of her mental library, delve into slightly darker arts, and use Ron's own wand to strip him of all magical ability entirely. She was just about to make the choice, when someone else rushed into the room.

"Petrificus totalis," the voice shouted, and a whip of green light wound itself around Ron's waist, forcing his entire body to straighten and go completely rigid. He fell backward, like a plank of wood, his eyes frozen in a wide-open stare.

Hermione, clinging to Harry, looked toward the door, her pained eyes meeting the fury and fierce protectiveness found on Ginny Weasley's face. "What are you...how did you..."

"Malfoy sent a patronus," Ginny said, sliding her wand back into the pocket in her cloak's sleeve. "It clicked and scurried around the common room until someone paid attention. I followed it up here, and..." she shook her head and looked downward at her stiff brother. "I am so sorry about all of this."

Harry wrapped his arms around Hermione."We should be thanking you," he said. "Wait, patronus...where is he, that he needed to send for..."

"No idea," Ginny said, "The only thing I gathered from it was that you were in some sort of trouble." She brushed her long red hair behind her ears. "Who the hell has a scorpion as a patronus anyway? Everyone was too busy running from it or trying to stun it to realize it was trying to tell us something."

Hermione laughed. "Always wondered what his would've been if we'd had him in the DA," she said with a small smile. "You...you're not upset with Harry, are you? The way Ron is?"

"Are you mad?" Ginny said, narrowing her eyes. "We all understood. We were all prepared to die during that battle, and everyone...well, all except for Ron...we accepted that some of us would give our lives. Ron blamed you, Harry, but we weren't just fighting for you. None of this was your fault, at all, we know that." She tilted her head. "Mum wants to know if you'll spend Christmas with us, by the way. She's already started off knitting you a new jumper." She looked at Hermione. "Of course, that goes for you as well, as long as you're not still bitter about my part in..."

"Please," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Dumbledore had a way of getting a lot of us to do a lot of things we never really wanted to, and I know where his heart always truly was." She looked up at Harry with a smile. Her head fell against his arm as she looked back at Ginny. "Tell your mother we'd be honored." Her eyes darted downward. "But, what about him?"

Ginny's mouth opened and closed, like a suffocating fish. "Well, I...I don't, um..."

"Surdis mutis tacitum," Draco's voice called into the room, and instantly Ginny stopped moving, stopped speaking, and seemed as though she could no longer see or hear anything at all. He stepped into the room. "Sorry I'm late," he said, "Glad to see she's not as completely cracked as her brother."

"Where were you?" Harry asked, holding out a hand to his friend, "And why did you just..." he pointed inquisitively toward Ginny.

Draco looked at her as he rolled a bit of tension out of his shoulders. "She shouldn't hear what I'm about to tell you." He turned back toward Harry and Hermione. "I was with Sirius. He used that bloody time-turner again, it's probably why Weasley went flying off the handle. There are things...things he changed that...look, he tried to stop all of this but he only made it worse. That time-turner is cursed, all right, in a number of ways. It used to belong to Marvolo Gaunt."

"You must be joking," Hermione said, her eyes blank and her face twisted in disbelief.

"I wish I was," Draco said. He held out the golden necklace, the widest ring of the turner gripped between two fingers. "We can use it, and that wheel of yours, and go back home, tonight, but there's no telling what we'll find there, unless..." he looked at Ron's limp, still body on the carpet. "Unless we wipe his memory entirely before we go."

Harry blinked. "That seems so unfair." He scratched at his scar, suddenly itching. "There's no alternative? Won't his life be a mess? I couldn't live with myself if..."

"We'd have to make it a very specific mind-modification," Draco interrupted, "Figure out how to leave him mostly in tact, only removing the bits and pieces involving you both...and me, for reasons Sirius wouldn't explain." He looked at Hermione. "You think you can do that?"

Hermione heaved an exasperated sigh. "Hold on, this is a lot to take in, here, I mean...a week ago I was fighting with you over holding onto my own memories of Ron and everything, so to be asked, now, to..."

"I'm telling you we don't have a choice," Malfoy said. "As for your memories concerning Ron, thanks to your Godfather, who thinks he's bloody HG Wells, half of them never actually happened." He pushed up his sleeve and the Dark Mark he'd long ago had seared into his skin was gone, but a thick, raised scar resembling his own slanted penmanship had taken its place.

Harry looked at it, and then shit his eyes toward the back of his right hand. "I must not tell lies," he whispered, running a finger over his nearly identical scar. "You mean to tell me..."

"I came back from the dark side long before the war," Draco said with a nod. He shot his eyes toward Ron again. "Seems Weasley and I have traded places."

_**Peace and Love**_

_**Jo**_


	12. Potter's Wheel 12

_**Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work.**_

"You think you've figure it out, have you?" Malfoy asked as he fired yellowed sparks at bewitched paper airplanes, entertaining himself as his friends pored over spell-books and notepads.

Hermione wiped her forehead and dropped her head into an open book, grumbling something unintelligible. At that moment, all of Draco's paper planes burst into flames and fell to the ground, forming small piles of ash.

"Rude," he teased, hopping out of the armchair and walking over to her and Harry. He rested one arm on her back and the other over Harry's shoulders. "Listen, you two, if this is proving to be too much, we can just completely..."

"She's figured it out," Harry said then, nodding once. He looked at Hermione and reached for her, smiling softly as his fingers toyed with her curls. "It just took a lot out of her, is all." He leaned closer to her and kissed her cheek. "Can you do this?"

She nodded, her forehead wrinkling the pages of the book as it moved. She sighed and sat up straight, turned to look over her shoulder at the two frozen Weasleys, and scooted backward. Her chair scraped along the hardwood as Draco's arm fell away from her back. She stood up, tugged on her white button-down shirt, and she readied her wand. Taking slow, steady steps, she aimed the twisted-vine-ensnared wand directly at the crown of Ron's head and began to speak the incantation. Slowly, a spiral of misty green smoke swirled outward from the tip of her wand and coiled around Ron's head and neck.

Pearly white memories began to escape from his ears, his nostrils, his temples, and they entangled themselves in the air, pulling apart and knotting together, forming loops and fraying at the ends. When they were satisfied with their new formations and positions, they inched their way back into his brain, settled down, and the smoke dissipated. Hermione backed up instinctively into Harry, who wrapped his arms around her and, together, they waited.

Draco looked at Harry, who nodded, and he raised his white, pointy wand and fired two silent spells, one aimed for Ron and the other for Ginny.

"...think Mum even invited him home this year," Ginny said, as if she hadn't been frozen mid-sentence for the last four hours. "Its you two, the rest of us, Bill and Fleur, of course, and you, Draco."

Hermione blinked. She had to take a moment to remember what Ginny had been saying before Draco suspended her senses. When it hit her, she said, "Right! Yes! Christmas, wonderful, I'll make some pasties." She eyed Ron, who was coming to, and gripped Harry's wrists.

Malfoy took a threatening step and steadied his wand, just in case.

Ron moaned, using one hand to lift himself a quarter's-way off the floor. "What...what the..." he blinked and looked up. "Why the bloody hell am I in the Gryffindor common room?"

"Was hoping you'd tell us," Ginny said, her memories apparently had contorted themselves to agree with Ron's. "Only thing I can imagine is you're still hot for Hermione and came up here to try to win her over, or something."

"Fat chance of that," Herrmione scoffed, pulling Harry's arms further around her. Her head tilted then, as she realized something else had changed after her spell took effect. "Harry, look!" she whispered. "His robes."

Harry's eyes zoomed to the patchwork crest adorning Ron's school robes, and where there once was a proud and noble lion, there was now a coiled, surly-eyed serpent. He coughed a bit, hiding his gasp, and searched over Draco's clothes. Stifling a laugh, he elbowed Malfoy in the ribs. "Sorry to tell you, mate, but look down at your shirt."

Confused, Draco narrowed his eyes and brushed him off, but in doing so, did manage to catch sight of the Gryffindor Quidditch tee-shirt he was wearing. "What...what have you..." he raised one eyebrow and glared hard at Hermione. "Woman, what the hell did you do?" he seethed.

Ron, having finally risen to his feet, brushed himself off and sneered at the three friends in the corner of the common room. "Not likely, Potter," he growled. "I may have fancied her once-upon-a-time, but if this war taught me anything, it's that twits like you, and filthy-little Mudbloods like her, can't be trusted." He gave a dramatic twirl of his robes and left, muttering something under his breath.

"Sorry," Ginny said, meaning it, knowing the sensitivity surrounding that particular insult. She ran out of the common room after her brother, yelling about taking points off Slytherin for being out of bounds and out of bed after hours.

"I didn't...I never meant to change...but how did it...just then, I..." Hermione babbled, her eyes wide. "It all changed right before our eyes, and that's never happened before. How did that happen? Why did that all just happen?"

"No time to worry about that now," Malfoy said, "We have to meet Sirius outside. It's time." He looked around the common room one last time, grabbed the top-shaped wooden ball off of the desk, and said, "We have to go home."

Hermione gave a Harry a longing look, telling him once again she'd relive the moments over again, differently or the same, if it came down to it, and part of her had actually wanted to do so.

He shook his head and gave her hands a squeeze. "No," he whispered, his eyes running the length of her body. "There'd be far too many questions." He gave a light tug on her hands and drew her out of the common room, followed by Malfoy. Their brisk walk turned into a jog, and then a full on run. Harry gave a whistle, and Hedwig hooted, signaling to him that she was flying right behind them.

When the shadowy figure of Sirius Black came into view, Malfoy caught his attention and tossed the Potter's Wheel through the air toward him. "Nice catch," he said, as he slowed and then stilled. Panting, he waved a hand. "Home, please," he wheezed.

Hedwig landed on Harry's shoulder and nipped his ear lovingly, and Harry chuckled in return. "All right, girl," he said, brushing a finger under her beak. "Ready when you are. I'm just...what exactly are we heading into?"

Sirius shrugged. "With any luck, a new life. A better life. One where...where maybe I don't have to hide anymore."

Malfoy glared at him. "You didn't!"

"I might've," Sirius said, a smarmy smile on his face. He looped the tarnished time-turner around the pointed dowel of the wheel, gave the ball a spin, and suddenly everything began to whirl around them. Colors blended and smeared, shapes lost form and became nothing more than abstract shadows. The Whomping Willow disappeared entirely and the walls and furniture that lived in the Potter living room began to take form in its place. The whizzing slowed, the turning and twisting eased up, and four bodies dropped to a cold, marble floor.

"I'm going to be sick," Hermione complained, heaving forward.

"Mind the rest of us," Malfoy snorted, pulling as far away from her as he could. "What the bleedin' mercy just happened?"

Sirius, finding his bearings, shook his head. "That's what happens," he said. "The last few times...well, I was on my own. Prior, you've all been asleep and didn't feel the full blow of it."

"S'that why I kept dreaming I was being swept up in a tornado with a bunch of sharks?" Harry asked, woozy, trying to stand to his feet.

"No," Hermione said, righting herself and looking at her husband. "That's because you keep eating Firecracker Snaps before bed." She kissed his cheek as she heard the other two men laugh, and she turned around again. "So how will we know...what, um...what's been altered, or..."

"In the morning," Sirirus said, interrupting her, "It will be as if none of this happened. Your memories will rearrange themselves, fill in the blanks, and, with any luck..."

Sirius was stopped this time, his words being jackknifed by a loud knock on the door. He shot his eyes toward Harry and went completely pale.

"Snuffles," Harry said, snapping his fingers. As his Godfather morphed into a big, black dog, he looked at Malfoy. "Couch, pretend you're asleep, go," he whispered. "And you," he said to Hermione. "Right here, always," he muttered, pulling her close. He accioed their night-robes, pulling them on just as the knock hit their door again. "What in the hell..." he asked, feigning groggy irritation as he pulled open the door. It seemed heavier than he remembered. "Oh! Minister Shacklebolt, Sir," he said, standing up straighter.

"Oh, Potter," Kingsley said, laughing. "Such formality? After all we've been through? Please." He took off his hat and bowed slightly at Harry. "Sorry to bother you so late in the evening, but the other Aurors have Weasley in a leg-locker curse just outside his cell and..."

"What?" Hermione and Harry asked at once. "But I thought..." Hermione began, her heart sinking.

"It's the third time he's tried to escape," Shacklebolt said, cutting her off. "He's demanding to speak to you, Potter. He says he'll be agreeable if he just gets to speak with you."

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Great," he said, "Give me a moment, would you, Sir?"

Shacklebolt nodded as Harry pulled Hermione back into the living room. "I can't leave looking like this," he said, eyeing her pleadingly.

Biting her lip, Hermione waved a hand and turned Harry's sweats and robe into a sharp suit. "Stay with me," she whispered, tapping his temples, reminding him to send a thought or two, a mental conversation, her way as soon as he could. "I need to know you're all right."

He nodded. "Always, I'm always with you," he said, kissing her forehead. "Draco?" he called to the lump on the couch.

At once, Mallfoy sat up straight. "I'll watch her," he said with a nod. "Nothing's going to happen to her." He gave a tense look to his friend. "Send an owl, would you? Let us know what this is all about?"

"Take a nap," Sirius said to him, now in human form again and throwing his hands. He headed toward the downstairs bathroom. "It'll all make sense when you wake up."

_**Peace and Love**_

_**Jo**_


	13. Potter's Wheel 13

**_Harry Potter and the related characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling. No malicious intent or ill will is meant by using those characters and events in this fictional work._**

_He's yelling at me for using sectumsepra on him during sixth year, _Harry had thought to Hermione, confused. _It wasn't Malfoy, it was Ron. All of it. From year one, in the train car, it's all been inverted. _Harry blinked, stopping his telepathic conversation with his wife and focused on the blathering Ron was doing. "Sorry," he said outloud, shaking his head and refocusing on the very verbal conversation he was having with Ron Weasley. "What?"

"How'd you do it?" Ron asked, his pale and gaunt face looking up at Harry with weary eyes and dark, sallow lips. "Just tell me how…"

"How I did what?" he asked, right confused. He pushed his round glasses up on his nose, folded his arms, and shrugged. "What are you on about?"

"No, of course you…you wouldn't tell me," Ron sneered. "We've never been friends, have we? You've always come off as too big for britches, you and Malfoy and Granger, wandering around as if you owned the world, as if you were too good for the rest of us." He scoffed and spat at Harry's feet. "King Potter, all hail, since the moment you stepped onto that train, all those years ago."

Harry swallowed, struggling to remind himself that Ron was remembering things that had never happened, not in any honest timeline, anyway. "That's not true. You were just too bitter about the state of your own family, resentful of your position, jealous of others…that's why you were put into Slytherin House, and the rest of your family into Gryffindor. You have a dark heart, Ron, and you never gave any of us a chance." He bit back an emotional cry and squeezed his eyes shut, once again mourning the loss of a friend he once swore he'd never lose. "We could've been friends."

Ron laughed, a bitter chuckle that sounded like the type Lucious Malfoy used to give. "No," he said. "Even if we were, it wouldn't be true friendship. There would always be bad blood between us, for one reason or another, and you know it." His eyes grew dark. "How's your wife?"

"Perfectly fine," Harry said. "Why do you ask?"

Ron shrugged. "Bad dreams in this place. Not that I imagined anything otherwise, just…asking." He took a breath and looked around, the billowy sheathes of the dementors lurking in surrounding shadows. He cringed when he heard the wailing cry of a fellow inmate, the sound of excruciating pain and deep remorse. "See that…that's why I asked you here."

"You want me to nic you a pair of ear-cozies from the shoppe?" Harry asked, a mocking tone in his voice.

Ron shook his head. "No, I…I can't stand them. All the times I gave you Hell for being afraid of them, for fuck's sake, Potter, I'm sorry! They're unbearable!" He shivered as he looked up at Harry again. "I need to…I need to ask for…your forgiveness. Because when they get too close, when they get too damned close…it's your voice I hear, your face I see, it's how I treated you that I relive, over and over, how I almost gave you over to Voldemort the first chance I got, how I was supposed to off Dumbledore and how you still…risked your life for mine." He blinked and shook his head. "I'm not sorry for how it all happened, I still don't like you, and I am never going to kiss your feet like the rest of the bloody imbeciles in the Wizarding World, but I do regret not appreciating what you sacrificed for the rest of us, when you didn't have to." He turned his hollowed eyes upward a Harry. "I appreciate it, now."

Harry was visibly shaken. "Well, um," he stammered. He had forgiven Malfoy for the very same things. Could he forgive Ron? For it all? "Yeah, sure, fine. I forgive you."

"No!" Ron shouted, his face twisting up into a severe expression. "I need real forgiveness," he pleaded.

"Only when you're really sorry," Harry stated, nodding once. "For everything."

Ron, taken quite aback, shook his head. "I see it now," he said, a whisper. "Why, it all makes perfect sense." He backed away from the metal bars and sat in his dark, cold, corner. "You can go. I don't need your forgiveness, after all. I don't need anything from you."

"Oh, Ron," he spoke to himself as he turned away from a former friend, "What have you done?"

He made his way out of the prison, ignoring the head-bows the aurors, guards, and even some prisoners had been giving him along his route. As soon as his face hit cold, night, air, he closed his eyes and apparated home, snapping Hermione to her feet once he'd materialized by her side. "Mother of Merlin, Harry, please," she panted, one hand over her stomach, the other on her chest. She took a calming breath and looked at him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm all right, now," he said, kissing her forehead. Something had fallen into place in the short journey through the air, and his memories had almost righted themselves. Only now, he knew what had really happened, and what he had changed, at the same time. "Where's Malfoy?"

"Guest room," she said, yawning. "Couldn't keep his eyes open, and I don't blame him."

Harry wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her close. "Where were we, when all this started, love?"

"On the couch," she laughed, "In a state of undress that would certainly make McGonnagal blush."

He grinned and kissed her again. "Shall we pick up from there, then?" he asked, sultrily, backing her up toward the sofa.

"With Draco and Sirius in the house?" she asked, stunned. She allowed Harry to pull her down to him, wrapping her body around his. She moaned softly as she felt her nightclothes pulling themselves away from her body. "Harry," she warned.

"As long as we're quiet, neither of them will…"

A loud, still-masculine yell, from somewhere above their heads, interrupted him. He held Hermione tightly as scrambling, scuffling footsteps grew louder, and then blurry bodies whooshed into the room from the top of the stairs. "Giant spider!" Malfoy shrieked, pointing to the ceiling and hopping up and down. "It was on my face! Potter, you've got a bloody infestation!"

Sirius, standing behind Draco in a plaid set of night robes, shook his head and raised both hands. "Boggart in the closet," he said. "All taken care of, but it managed to scare the daylights out of young Malfoy here before I, um, got rid of it."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "We had a boggart?" she queried, and then looked toward Harry. "I don't remember ever having…"

"My fault, I'm afraid," another voice spoke, again cutting off her words.

Hermione looked, and her face seemed to expand madly. Her jaw dropped, brows rose, and the color seemed to be sucked out of her skin.

Harry's expression mirrored hers. "Oh, dear God," he intoned breathily. He looked back at Sirius, seeing the purely guilty look on his face, in his eyes. "You can't be serious."

Sirius grinned smugly and shoved both hands into his robe's pockets. "I've never been moreso than right at this moment," he said, and it had so many alternate meaning which all accurately applied. He was himself, with his closest friends, save for one, back in his life, safe, where he felt they'd always belonged. "Rest well, tonight, Harry. Tomorrow…I've got a surprise for the two of you."

Malfoy rubbed the dregs of sleep out of his eyes. "Bloody boggart," he griped. "Was having a damn near perfect dream, you know. Woke to the feeling of fuzzy feet inching their way into my nostrils, have you any idea how that feels, mate?"

"Wasn't real, you know," Harry said, trying not to laugh.

Draco shot him a lewd gesture, earning a harsh gasp from Hermione. "Going baack to bed, and so help me, if my dreams are fully fucked tonight, you're paying for it. Dearly." He waved lazily at Sirius, and again toward Lupin, and dragged himself back up the stairs.

Sirius gave Harry and Hermione sneaky, knowing grins, and then led Lupin, who had no recollection of ever being dead or close to it, up the stairs as well, chuckling to himself as he thought about the joys tomorrow would bring.

He just didn't count on the sorrows.

**_Peace and Love_**

**_Jo_**


End file.
